Chapter 35

Another chapter!

This one switches back to Finn/Eliza briefly. I'm trying to achieve a delicate balance here by maintaining their arc without giving them a huge amount of screen time. I think this makes the world feel bigger--plus, there's a cool payoff eventually when this arc reconnects with Jason/Alex. We'll see if it's worth it!

In related news, I'm getting close to the end! I actually spent yesterday editing a few new chapters and outlining the remaining chapters. I suspect this one will end up being about 220-230K words. I'm getting so close. Then I just need to edit and proof this monster.

Seriously, I need to write smaller books lol...

Anyway, enjoy and I'll be back next week with more Jason!

Chapter 35 - Upstage

Mile-High Club – Deathball Arena

Finn

Finn and Eliza teleported into the arena and the familiar rush of mana dispersed around them as the world stabilized. Beneath his feet, the sand shifted, fine grains sliding over his boots. The arena itself was simple, a vast open pit surrounded by towering mana-forged walls.

However, what had once felt cavernous and empty now hummed with life. The stands were overflowing with fans, an entire city's worth of people packed into the coliseum, their cheers a deafening roar. A testament to just how far he and Eliza had climbed. Every round, every win—hundreds of life and death struggles—had carried them closer to this moment.

The noise was a reminder that the pair was undefeated. At the cusp of ascending from the minor leagues. Almost one step closer to their goal: to confronting Smiles himself. Finn was still unsure what Eliza hoped to accomplish during that meeting, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself genuinely present in the moment rather than lost in a loop of grief and guilt.

“It took a lot to get here,” Finn murmured.

“1,689 victories, to be precise,” Daniel observed, the elemental giving a pulse at his shoulder. “Your max multiplier during King of the Hill was x56.30 before you reached the point threshold needed to trigger a major league qualifier match.”

Finn just grunted in acknowledgement.

Daniel paused, scanning Finn. “Do I detect a note of sadness? Are you going to miss murdering helpless noobs in increasingly concerning ways?”

“You’re reading into it,” he retorted.

Eliza shot the fire elemental a knowing smile. “I think he started having fun.”

She wasn’t wrong, not entirely anyway. With each round, each new fight, he’d found it easier to remain present. To exist in the controlled environment of combat, where variables were manageable and outcomes were measurable. The clinical detachment he’d cultivated was serving him well—grief transformed from overwhelming obsession into focused energy.

It was, he reflected with scientific objectivity, a more evolved form of coping. Rather than fleeing from loss, he was learning to channel it.

Guilt and fear and anger channeled into passion.

A passion that the crowd reflected back at them.

The roar hit like a physical force. Overhead, mana-formed emojis burst into existence, flickering above the stands. A gratuitous waste of mana, each construct forming into strange, animated shapes that glowed in a rainbow of colors in his Mana Sight.

Yet the fans clearly had a favorite.

A single, iconic emoji dominated the chaos—

A sheep. Fluffy, Eliza called him. A callback to the Sea’s Edge, her elemental city, which was formerly—or possibly even still—ruled by this sleepy, four-legged ball of fur. Yet the sheep’s wool was no longer dark black but a soft, cerulean blue as the spectators channeled water mana into the air.

At first, the Fluffy emojis had been adorable—a tiny lamb curled up, its fur an impossibly soft cloud. He blinked his eyes, slow and drowsy, as if he’d just woken up from a long, peaceful nap. Or begged for food. Or rolled over, exposing his soft underbelly. Simple animated loops. The AO equivalent of a GIF.

However, as Finn and Eliza’s killing spree had continued unabated... the variants had gradually begun appearing.

One Fluffy tilted its head at an unnatural angle, its eyes glowing a demonic red. Another grinned far too wide, revealing tiny, impossibly sharp teeth. A few had shadowy tendrils curling from their wool, and some—well, some had pitched back onto their hind hooves, the other pair somehow holding wickedly curved knives.

The animations had also grown in complexity—no longer simple loops. One particularly deranged Fluffy had begun hunting the other emojis, sneaking up on their peacefully slumbering forms before repeatedly stabbing them to death, its expression one of pure, unhinged joy.

Finn sighed. “Such a ridiculous mascot,” he muttered.

Eliza just shrugged. “The people have chosen.”

She side-eyed him, a ghost of a grin tugging her lips. “Jealous?”

“Yes, deeply,” Daniel interjected sourly, pulsing softly. “They should be celebrating me! Not-not this murderous sociopathic sheep—”

To the AI’s credit, the ‘demonic fluffy’ was now standing atop a mountain of corpses, its knives held aloft and its fur speckled with the blue blood of the fallen as he bleated his victory. A rousing cry that was met with a torrent of noise from the crowd.

Finn exhaled through his nose. “For once, I agree with Daniel.”

The fire elemental froze, his light literally cooling. “Wait—really?”

Eliza was about to respond, but never got the chance.

Because the sun... vanished.

The arena plunged into unnatural twilight, their lighthearted banter forgotten as instinct kicked in. Finn’s fingers were already channeling Haste, and a thin coating of flames licked at his skin. Even Eliza had gone still, her hand on her wand. Yet there was no attack—just an eerie silence, the weight of tens of thousands of spectators suddenly going quiet.

An ominous halo of faint, burning light hung in the sky.

“Artificial eclipse,” Daniel reported softly, scanning the construct above them. “Gravity well suspended at approximately 847 meters. Impressive mana expenditure—roughly equivalent to a small city’s daily consumption.”

Finn’s mind raced through the same analysis, his Mana Sight activating to illuminate the black construct in glowing emerald relief. A suspended gravity well acting as an artificial moon? The theatrical excess suggested someone with both substantial resources and an inflated ego.

Oh, no... that could only mean—

The eerie silence was shattered by a single, piercing guitar chord, its resonance vibrating through the stands, through the air, through his very bones. Spotlights lit up around the edges of the stands, all of them pointing to the sky—at an abomination of wasted mana and self-aggrandizing nonsense.

A giant guitar descended from the heavens. And standing atop it, posing like a rockstar god, was a familiar figure—one Finn had hoped to avoid. Yet it seemed their methodical climb through the rankings had drawn his unfortunate attention.

Bard had arrived.

His mask gleamed white, identical to Smiles’ own except for the musical symbols decorating the blood-red smile painted across its surface. His suit—a riot of rich fabrics and embroidered gold thread—sparkled under the mana-powered spotlights.

“Ladies and gentleman, and also half-decomposed undead, prissy angels, desert people with a bad case of eczema, and mutated water freaks... welcome to the promotion match for the minor leagues!” Bard’s voice boomed, his words woven into his own air mana, ensuring every soul present—alive, earless, or otherwise—heard him.

“And do we have one hell of a match for you today!” Bard continued, waving at Finn and Eliza, the pair standing upon the sands below. “The avatars of fire and water themselves are vying for promotion into the major leagues after an unstoppable killing spree.”

As the crowd roared their approval, he strummed his guitar, a single chord vibrating through the stands as a massive display above the arena flickered to life. The display soon shifted, breaking apart into several floating panels, a highlight reel of their previous matches. Each of one an overwhelming, gruesome victory.

Match 234: Finn turned the whole arena into lava. It turned out that lava couldn’t kill the other players, not technically, but they sank into the superheated sludge before Eliza hardened it with a blast of frost—locking them in place.

Estimated time: 2 minutes, 23 seconds.

Match 465: Eliza tunneled her mold down through the sand from the starting location, each group still surrounded by that rainbow dome of energy. As soon as the timer popped, she immediately snatched the balls from the center of the ring, each one attached to a spindly arm of mold. Their opponents had frozen for a second before fleeing in terror.

Estimated time: 1 minute, 47 seconds.

The screen cut back to Bard, his mask's smiling face warped into a strange frown as he watched the replays, a few boos echoing from the crowd. Finn observed calmly, but notes that while Eliza shifted uncomfortably, her eyes on the spectators. For all their fans, they’d also collected more than a few critics.

“But let's be honest...” Bard began, leaning forward, voice dipping into something conspiratorial. “They’ve had it too easy, am I right?”

A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd, many shouting their agreement. Eliza glanced at Finn. “I don’t like this,” she said softly.

Finn couldn't help but agree. What did this flamboyant asshole have planned?

Of course, Bard let the moment linger before raising a finger.

“But never fear, because Bard is here! Specifically, to level the playing field. For this promotion match, we’ve made a few changes—just to keep things interesting.

“First, it’s clear that players in the minor league are no match for our avatars... and also no one would agree to get brutally murdered on live stream,” he admitted quickly. “Which is why several of our major league players volunteered for this prestigious honor!”

Bard snapped his fingers. Around the arena, rainbow portals ripped open, depositing five new teams at even intervals around the circle. To Finn’s enhanced sight, it was clear they were in a different league, both literally and figuratively. They were equipped with high-quality gear, and their bodies glowed brightly, evidence of high mana affinities.

Oh, and all of them were glaring at Finn and Eliza.

“And to properly motivate our major league players,” Bard continued, “the gaming commissions here at the Mile High Club worked hard to come up with appropriate incentives. Any major league team that fails this match will be immediately demoted to the minor leagues,” he announced with a broad, cunning smile.

Well, that explained why the players looked so pissed. It was clear now that they hadn’t agreed to this—they’d been manipulated into participating.

Bard’s gaze locked onto Finn and Eliza again. “But just improving our duo’s opponents isn’t enough, now is it? Not when they’re both known to think—and fight—outside the box.” He hesitated, glancing down at the clearly circular arena. “Or ring, whatever. Either way, we’ve made some adjustments to our arena that should prevent any shenanigans.”

Another snap, and the arena floor transformed.

A tidal wave of green mana crawled up from the sand like a living thing, sweeping across the field in a controlled, deliberate flood. Where it passed, the soft grains of the arena floor compacted and hardened, transmuting into solid stone. The rock was challenging enough, but it was veined with dark, metallic alloys—thick green concentrations in Finn’s enhanced sight.

High melting point, most likely. No easy way to repurpose it into a weapon. And the stone itself was too dense for Eliza’s mold to penetrate effectively.

Yet that wasn’t the most significant modification.

As the arena settled, barriers of thick rainbow mana arced up out of the floor, encasing each team inside a translucent column of energy. Those shimmering cells didn't stop at the stone, either. They plunged down, down, down. All the way to the base of the Mile High Club. Clearly, this was meant to prevent them from acting during the countdown window.

Yet as his gaze pressed deeper, his Mana Sight peeling through the layers of reforged earth underfoot, he caught a flicker of something below—a glimmer of yellow mana.

“Daniel,” he murmured, “provide a structural analysis of the club’s foundation and systems, use the logs from our repair efforts and our previous visit. What’s directly below us?”

“Scanning—ah.” Daniel's tone shifted to something approaching satisfaction. “Air mana circulation pipelines. The primary levitation infrastructure for the club. A pressurized delivery system with... inadequate shielding on the lower access points.”

Interesting. Maybe he could work with that.

Bard turned to them, that bloody red smile painted back onto his pristine white mask. Even their opponents looked more confident now. Finn could only assume they’d studied their previous battles methodically and planned accordingly.

“So, my little troublemakers... any last words?” Bard asked sweetly.

Eliza shot Finn a look, a silent communication passing between them. They couldn’t afford to reveal their tactics, not with their opponents already analyzing their every movement. However, he could see the question in her eyes, and he nodded.

They would have to execute their contingency plan.

Eliza raised her eyes to meet Bard’s, frost coating the surface of her skin, the cold insufficient to hold back the infection that riddled her body.

“Just get on with it already,” she declared.

The response created a tense silence. The crowd—thousands strong—leaning forward in their seats. Thousands more watching the streams, camera orbs flitting through the artificial darkness like sapphire stars. Even the emojis had faded into coiling wisps of mana.

Bard’s delighted laugh echoed through that silence. “Happily.”

He snapped his fingers one last time, and a timer appeared over the arena.

Match Countdown: 30 Seconds.

The balls suddenly wove together in the center of the arena, conjured from the club’s mana. Yet Finn didn’t spare them a second thought.

Instead, he summoned his flames with controlled precision, that heat racing through his veins as his crystalline left hand glowed with a flickering mixture of orange and red. He recast Haste on himself, stronger this time—that clock overhead slowing down to a crawl. Every second would need to be optimized for maximum efficiency.

Meanwhile, Eliza stood beside him, frozen in place with her arms crossed defiantly.

All she needed to do was wait; to trust in Finn.

Now he needed to ensure that trust wasn’t misplaced. Flames rippled across the heavy, dark metal bracelets ringing his wrists, ankles, and arms, the metal heating up and melting down. He formed them into molten orbs that soon orbited him in his usual pattern. However, he didn’t build shields or weapons this time. He was going to try something different.

His gaze shifted downward, focusing on that cluster of air mana far beneath his feet. Apart from his previous kidnapping, Finn had also helped refurbish the club after Pax’s arrival—something he suspected that Bard and the other members of his guild had overlooked. Few people thought to question the engineering behind how the club stayed aloft, floating high above the clouds. They just assumed it was some handwavy fantasy trope.

And they would be wrong.

This world—much like their own—operated on fundamental rules. If you wanted to build a flying theme park, you needed something that would keep it aloft. The tornado in the middle of the club was a good start. But there was only one viable power source in this world: mana. Specifically, air mana. That tornado funneled highly pressurized mana into pipelines that riddled the club, powering massive generators along the base responsible for the levitation effect.

Match Countdown: 23 Seconds.

The air around him shimmered as the orbs unfurled, interlocking to form a massive drill bit, the tip hardened with fragments of neurogem. The rest of the metal formed into a triangular frame, and Finn swiftly mounted the drill bit to the center, his fingers flick, flick, flicking as he rotated the bit up to speed with mechanical precision.

“Rotational velocity reaching optimal penetration threshold,” Daniel reported. “17,000 RPM and climbing…”

He waited until the drill reached max speed—several precious seconds ticking past—until the high-pitched whine of the metal tore through the air. Then he raised both hands, the limbs wrapped in controlled flame, and pulled them down in a controlled descent, his crown blazing overhead as he empowered his spell. Every third cast while wearing the crown received a boost.

And he would need all the help he could get to pull this off…

The drill tore straight down, the rock holding for a split second before splintering under the force of Finn's determination. There was no room for hesitation. For emotional noise. There was only the fire and the flame. The fury of the drill as it bit deep into the ground.

“Penetration rate exceeding projections by 12%,” Daniel noted with satisfaction. “Structural integrity compromised in 3... 2... 1...”

Finn’s mana reserves were declining, and he dropped Haste.

The time compression was no longer necessary.

Match Countdown: 15 Seconds.

As his Haste ended, the roar of the crowd swept around him, followed by Bard, his voice amplified by the arena. “Hey! Hey, hey, hey—what are you doing to my Arena? I told you, we boxed you in. There’s nothing you can do!”

Finn just kept drilling. Bard was correct about their containment. Unfortunately, he’d constructed those shields as a cylinder rather than a complete sphere. A simple engineering oversight. Likely because calculating the mana vector on a sphere was more complicated.

Tombs – their resident engineer – was competent, but his math skills were lacking.

Bard marched across his guitar-shaped platform, gesturing in confusion. “Seriously, maybe the old man has finally lost it. Or are you planning to hide in the hole?”

Finn still didn’t acknowledge him. The opposing teams were visibly anxious now, their eyes darting between Finn and Eliza—the water mage hadn’t moved a muscle. Their expressions ranged from confusion to contempt. However, the intelligent ones were starting to look appropriately concerned.

“Target depth achieved,” Daniel announced. “Infrastructure breach imminent.”

He was almost there, the drill plunging down, down, down—

Even as the counter dropped into the single digits.

It was going to be close... really close.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

As the counter struck zero, the text disappeared in a sudden woosh of mana. And with it went the columns of energy keeping each team contained, those shimmering barriers disappearing into motes of glimmering mana.

The opposing teams didn’t hesitate. They rushed for the balls in the center of the arena. Their thought process was clear. Whatever Finn was doing didn’t matter. Those balls were the only weapons that could harm them—a single touch enough to kill.

Yet Eliza still didn’t move. She just smiled, a frosty, cruel grin.

Then her body exploded. Her flesh and blood and bone, corrupted by and threaded with the mold, detonated into a swirling mass of particles. A living storm.

At the same instant, Finn struck that mana pipeline far below, his drill puncturing those tubes—metal no one had thought to reinforce adequately. After all, who would be crazy enough to destroy part of the system that kept the club aloft?

The answer?

Finn. Finn was crazy enough.

Air mana exploded up out of the hole, a thin layer of flame coating Finn’s skin as he recast Haste, and time slowed to a crawl. The bits and pieces of Eliza floated before that opening in the ground. Their opponents rushed toward the balls in a blur of movement and mana, none of them fighting each other—all of them intent on eliminating Eliza and Finn.

“Pressure dynamics optimal,” Daniel observed, glowing a bright red now. “Initiate directional adjustment sequence.”

Finn had left one last molten orb of metal floating beside him, which he swiftly flattened and manipulated with practiced skill. He curved the surface into a funnel—one that redirected that impressive blast of amber mana erupting from the hole. Pointing it straight at those oncoming teams, the air ripping through the cloud of mold and sending it rocketing forward.

Finn observed every precious second of his latest experiment.

The sudden doubt that flickered in their opponents’ mana signature.

The way Eliza's cloud whipped across the arena in a frosty, sapphire mist.

The way the other players hesitated as they saw the mold approach, conditioned by their own experience. That mold was normally a death sentence. Yet they soon overcame that fear and doubt as they pressed forward—the cost of failure far too high.

However, that split second of hesitation cost them; the cloud engulfed the players. They managed to keep running for a moment longer, their momentum carrying them forward.

Their hubris was their own undoing; their own lack of imagination.

Because the moment the cloud engulfed them—

The match ended.

Fresh corpses dropped to the ground, dissolving into puddles of organic goo as the mold stripped flesh from bone before consuming the skeletal structure itself. Eliza gradually pulled herself back together, those motes forming into thick clusters. Arms, legs, a torso, then her head. Her eyes shone a brilliant sapphire as they took in the awestruck crowd, Bard’s gaping expression, and the new notification that flickered overhead:

Match End: “Fluffy Rules” Wins!

Estimated Time: 8 Seconds

“Our most efficient victory to date,” Daniel observed with satisfaction. “A 98% improvement over previous optimization metrics.”

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

Then the arena detonated in noise. The Fluffy emojis were flying at impossible speeds, except now the sheep wasn’t demonic—he was royalty. Armed with a glowing crown and a regal flowing cloak as he pranced through the air overhead. The crowd howled with a mixture of laughter, disbelief, rage, and sheer, unfiltered chaos.

Through it all, Bard just stood atop his platform. It looked like his brain had momentarily reset; like he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was. That?!” he bit out.

“A successful test,” Finn replied evenly.

The howls of victory were mixed with boos from the crowd. Some were already crying foul, claiming that Finn and Eliza had cheated, conjuring their own emojis to slay the royal Fluffy’s—as though that would somehow change the outcome. Violence was already beginning to break out among the spectators, mana flashing and flickering.

They were only moments away from a riot.

A small smile tugged at Finn’s lips.

Okay, he was definitely enjoying this.

Watching them struggle to figure out how they’d done it—struggling with impossible questions. How had Eliza’s mold killed them? Weren’t they supposed to be shielded? She hadn’t even grabbed a ball yet… had she? Or maybe they missed it?

Then another booming voice cut in.

“She kept the balls.”

The arena fell utterly silent again as that simple statement cut across all of that noise in an instant. The voice wasn’t loud and boisterous like Bard. It was heavy. Dense. Oppressive.

A figure rose from his seat among the stands, moving with lazy confidence as he approached the arena. A single punch was enough to fracture the mana shielding the stands, the energy splintering and cracking. Then, with a single leap, he landed on Bard’s floating guitar, the entire structure trembling from the impact.

That could only be one person—Smiles.

He was large, heavily muscled, his wool suit molded to his body despite his size. His white mask was featureless except for the blood-red smiley face painted across it. Gold cufflinks gleamed at his wrists as he moved, exuding an aura of calculated amusement and controlled power.

“Smiles,” Daniel observed quietly. “His mana signature indicates an S-class threat. It has grown since our last recorded engagement.”

Finn wasn’t surprised, but still… mind and muscle was a frightening combination. Had Smiles really figured out their trick so quickly? In a matter of seconds?

“Eliza stole the balls from a previous match,” Smiles explained into that sudden quiet, his voice even and unhurried. “She dissolved and ripped them apart with her mold, then stored the particles inside of herself.” His gaze centered on the diminutive water mage as she glared back. “Your control has grown by leaps and bounds.”

Eliza grimaced as her body reformed, scowling up at Smiles—at the sole reason they were doing this, going through all this trouble.

Smiles’ gaze flicked to Finn. “Then you just had to blow her across the field.”

Bard was dumbfounded, shaking his head. Even the crowd had to take a moment to process what he was saying—how many steps ahead Finn and Eliza had planned.

Smiles chuckled into that silence, shaking his head. “Clever. Very clever.”

Eliza craned her head toward that platform, glaring. “I don’t need your praise. I need to speak with you. Can we just skip all of this nonsense?” she asked with a wave of her hand. “Our victory is inevitable. So, let’s just cut to the chase.”

Smiles was unruffled. “Is it, now? You know my rules—how this place works. If you want a meeting, then earn it. And, I promise, your tricks won’t work against everyone.”

His gaze panned to the crowd, teeming with barely contained energy.

“But, for now, congratulations are in order. Welcome to the Major Leagues!”

At that announcement, the crowd went utterly ballistic.

Yet Finn noted that Eliza didn’t react. Didn’t rant; didn’t rage. Didn’t flush with victory. She just watched Smiles with frosty determination as he and Bard exited the arena, her expression unreadable. Her soft edges ground down into a frozen blade.

As much as Finn might like to claim credit for their tactical success, scientific honesty demanded accuracy. This time, the experiment had been Eliza’s idea. He’d just handled the delivery. The more time he spent with the water mage, the more he came to respect her.

Eliza exhaled softly, her breath misting the air.

“I’m going to find out the truth,” she murmured.

Finn still wasn’t sure what she hoped to discover, but he did know one thing…

Eliza was going to see this through to the end.