Suriel

  Iteration requested. Iteration 101, Ignite.

  Date. Present

  Report Complete.

  Suriel drifted through the calm, orderly expanse of the Way, the endless blue hues surrounding her as she approached Iteration 101. There was nothing particularly remarkable about this world. Its inhabitants wielded magic embedded into cards, summoning spirits and beasts through the Way. While fascinating in its own right, their power was negligible on a galactic scale. The planet's surface was inhospitable—its skies a toxic blue, its atmosphere a lethal mixture of gases and extreme temperatures. The people of Ignite had adapted by building their cities and nations deep underground, carving out a striving existence beneath the planet's crust.

  Suriel stood a parsec above the planet, out of reach of the little satellites Ignite possessed. "Find him," she ordered her Presence.

  [Searching], her Presence replied. Scripts on Suriel's eyes began to shift a second later as her Presence highlighted her target. [Target found. Sending coordinates and depth].

  Suriel followed the highlighted part of the planet in her vision, using the Way to create a shortcut and veiling herself. Most of the population in the iteration did not know of the existence of the Abidan, which is why the planet was chosen in the first place.

  [Exception: Those who possess exceptionally powerful cards, referred to as 'God cards' by the locals.]

  Suriel emerged from the Way into a narrow alleyway near a bustling underground market. She had disguised herself as a young, aspiring card fighter, her green hair tied back with a blue headband. Her white jacket, shirt, and denim trousers were pristine, fitting right into the fashion and chaos of the market. As she stepped out of the alley, the cacophony of the market threatened to overwhelm her veiled senses.

  People gathered, conducting mock battles in which they did not need to summon their monsters. Battles were lost, and cards were taken as winners' bounties as they journeyed to the top. Or, more fittingly, for this iteration, to the bottom. Sellers and merchants were yelling at people to buy their cards and collections as the losers slowly made their way to spend the meagre money they had to try to replace the lost cards.

  Although Suriel had tried to keep a low profile, several strangers still tried to challenge her to a duel. She ignored them, and none challenged her after they had realised she was not here for a duel. She made her way to District 12B, the slums among the slums. It was free to enter the place, although one would need the right papers to exit it. The roads were bare and smelled of piss and other body fluids. Drug addicts stood bent over on the sides, and some even remained standing as they died.

  [Dreamers], her Presence informed her. [They take the drugs to escape their reality].

  Suriel pitied them. This world's advancement was a zero-sum game in which one must stomp the bottom to reach the top. And those people were at the lowest of the bottom. Hungry eyes of the desperate stared at her with greed and envy, but one look at her higher-quality outfit told them she was out of their league, and they backed off in fear.

  She navigated the muddy, filth-strewn roads, following the directions her Presence provided . The district was devoid of street lamps; any that had once existed had long been stripped for parts. The darkness was oppressive, broken only by the occasional flicker of a candle.

  Finally, she turned into a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for one person. Her target was there, sitting on a small plastic stool, a card binder resting on his lap. A single candle flickered at his feet, casting long shadows on the grimy walls.

  He looked different ; gone was the pristine and replaced by rags. Yet his eyes and face were exactly how she had remembered him. He sat on a small plastic stool, a card binder on his lap and a small candle lit by his feet.

  The man started speaking when he heard Suriel's footsteps come close. "Hello, young duelist," he began, his voice carrying a practised charm. "Are you looking for—" He paused mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance. His tone turned cold. "Cards to start your journey," he finished, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  "No," Suriel replied, her voice calm but firm. "I require—"

  The man cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No purchase, no hospitality."

  Suriel suppressed a sigh. Outwardly, her expression remained stoic. "I want to see the best you can offer," she said.

  The man smirked as he handed her his binder. "I only sell my best."

  Suriel flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the cards with practised efficiency. She paused when she reached a seemingly ordinary card. The image depicted a man in white armour, his long blue hair flowing as he wielded a massive sword. The inscription on the card caught her attention, and her Presence translated it for her:

  The sword of bravery that advanced without fear became the light that brought hope.

  She placed a finger on the card, "this one."

  The man's smirk widened. " Blaster Blade ," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "That one's not meant for you, Suriel ," he whispered, her name slipping from his lips like a secret.

  "Suriel," she acknowledged, her tone respectful. He was the second-generation Suriel, her predecessor.

  "That's you now," the man replied, his voice softer. He flicked two cards to either side, creating a privacy barrier that shimmered faintly in the dim light. "I go by Shin now. Shin Nitta."

  Suriel waited for the barrier to fully form before speaking. "I need your help."

  "Tch," Shin sucked his teeth, his expression souring. "Of course you do. Here, I thought you'd violated hundreds of laws just to visit your old master." He waved a hand dismissively. "My fault for expecting sentimentality."

  "I'm looking for a first-generation Judge," Suriel continued, ignoring his jab.

  Shin's eyes widened. "The ones from Cradle?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "And what makes you think I have the answers?"

  "There's no one else I can go to," Suriel admitted. She bowed at the waist, her voice earnest. "Please. Billions are dying at the hands of the Vroshir. The Way grows weaker every second. Time is of the essence. I need to know."

  Shin stared at her, clearly taken aback by her humility. He steadied himself, his expression growing serious. "Explain."

  So Suriel did; she recounted everything Makiel told her, what she had seen written in the record books, what she saw and detected in the recording of Ozriel's battle, Makiel's theories, and the Mad King.

  "You're fucked," he said bluntly.

  "Did you know any of it?" Suriel pressed. "About the incursion? Or how to stop the Mad King?"

  Shin's face darkened at the mention of the Mad King. "Everything I know about the first-generation Suriel you've already inherited when my mantle was stripped from me and given to you," he said bitterly. "Ask Ozmanthus how to beat Ozkimeth. That know-it-all probably already has a plan."

  "Ozriel is...missing in action and currently presumed dead."

  Shin gave her a questioning look that told her the Abidan was exactly how he had crudely described, 'fucked'.

  He looked to the side and closed his eyes, removing his glasses and pinching his nose bridge. "Most of the first generation Judges are dead. The only one not confirmed dead is the Ghost. But good luck finding Durandiel; they're called the Ghost for a good reason."

  The Way thrummed when Shin mentioned the first-generation Durandiel.

  Either Shin still had a strong connection to the Way, or Suriel's expression had unknowingly cracked as the man gave her a wide grin.

  "The Way agrees with me, it seems," he remarked.

  Suriel nodded. "Thank you, master."

  She prepared to reverse time and leave, but Shin stopped her with a raised hand. "Wait. There's something you should know. Something I never got to tell you before I was forced into retirement."

  Suriel paused, her expression attentive.

  "I'm not afraid of the Way anymore," Shin said, his voice tinged with defiance. "What have they told you about the Reaper Division?"

  " That you played a massive role in their creation," she answered. "And your recklessness led to the rise of the Mad King."

  "Not entirely wrong, but not the full truth either," Shin said, his tone bitter. "The real reason is that I learned too much, and the Way hated me for it." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "q9eq9odhioqwdhiah...."

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  The words that followed were a chaotic jumble of sounds, incomprehensible and agonising. Suriel's head exploded with pain, a thousand blades stabbing into her mind. She dropped to her knees, her scream echoing through the alleyway. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever experienced in a long time, overwhelming and all-consuming. It only subsided when Shin finished speaking.

  He stood over her, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if debating whether to share more. Finally, he sighed. "You should turn back time now like this never happened. I have no more answers to give you."

  Suriel rose to her feet, her clothes pristine once more as she wiped away the filth with a wave of her hand. The pain in her head vanished as if it had never been there, though the memory of it lingered faintly.

  "Go," Shin said, returning to his seat.

  Suriel nodded, lifting her arms to reverse time and erase their meeting.

  "One last thing," Shin called out as the barrier began to dissolve . "Just know that I wouldn't have abandoned you like that if I'd had a choice. But I guess you didn't need me anyway. You're already a better Suriel than I ever was."

  "Thank you," Suriel replied softly before turning back time and leaving the iteration through the Way.

  As she drifted through the endless blue, her Presence spoke up. [What's our next destination?]

  Suriel sent her Presence the name of someone who might know the location of the first-generation Durandiel. It was a long shot, but if anyone would know, it would be her.

  [58% probability that she would know], her Presence confirmed.

  "Then contact her," Suriel said, her voice firm. "Request a meeting with the Angler."

  It was time to make a deal with an old enemy.

  Iteration requested. Iteration 110, Cradle

  Date. Present

  Report Complete.

  Seishen Territory of the Nightwheel Valley

  Lukrasta, Truegold of the Seishen Kingdom, stood guard at the Kingdom's camp in the valley. He had drawn the short straw, leaving him behind while most of the other Truegolds participated in a surprise attack on the Blackflame Empire. The camp was quiet, almost eerily so, with only four Lowgolds, two Highgolds, and himself—the sole Truegold—left to defend it.

  The only thing that kept his spirits up was the thought of the treasures they would claim once the Blackflame Empire was driven out. He would finally have the resources he needed to prepare for his advancement to Underlord. For now, he leaned against a tree, the weight of his twin shields resting comfortably on his arms. To pass the time, he summoned his family's most prized possession: the Doomdryte, a grimoire passed down through generations. Legends said it held the key to Monarch-like power for anyone in his bloodline who completed its ritual. Lukrasta had spent every day since inheriting it deciphering its cryptic contents.

  From this distance, he could feel the clash of Overlord Kings through his perception, their auras colliding like distant thunder. The battle was far enough away to be background noise but close enough to remind him of the stakes. He was engrossed in the grimoire's text when his perception screamed danger. Instinct took over, and he threw himself to the side just as the tree he'd been leaning against exploded into splinters.

  "Not bad," a woman's voice said, her accent strange and unfamiliar.

  Lukrasta looked up to see a Skysworn standing where the tree had been. She had black hair cut short, her face marked by multiple scars. In her hand was a sword forged from blue Steel, its edge gleaming faintly in the dim light. She pulled the blade back, ready for another strike. Lukrasta quickly ran his perception through her spirit—Truegold , just like him .

  "Form up," he whispered into the communication construct in his armour, his voice tight with urgency.

  "Let's try again," the woman said, her tone almost casual as she slashed her sword through the air.

  Lukrasta summoned his twin shields, their surfaces glowing faintly with Earth madra. He braced himself , rooting his feet to the ground as the sword aura crashed into him. The impact was stronger than he'd expected, sending a jolt through his arms. His forearms ached, but he held his ground.

  The communication construct in his armour flickered to life. "Unable, sir!" a Highgold's voice replied, strained and panicked. "The Skysworn is engaging us."

  A reverse ambush? Lukrasta's mind raced. That shouldn't be possible. His Underlord commander had assured him the Blackflame Empire had no knowledge of their plans. This had to be an unfortunate coincidence.

  "I don't mind toying with you for another hour," the woman said, her sword resting casually on her shoulder. "But answer this: where's the rest of your golds?"

  So she didn't know about their ambush . That was something, at least. Lukrasta feigned hesitation , then lunged forward, aiming to catch her off guard. His shield met her sword with a resounding clang, the force of the collision sending shockwaves through the surrounding trees. Splinters rained down as his shields deflected the sword's aura.

  "How many Skysworns are you engaging?" he whispered into his armour.

  "One Highgold, sir," came the reply a second later.

  One? Were these just scouts, not an attack force?

  "Oi!" the swordswoman yelled, her voice sharp. "Focus on the enemy in front of you."

  Her movements were a blur, and Lukrasta barely raised his shield in time to block her next strike. A second later, a bloodshadow materialised behind him, its crimson form lunging at his back. He twisted, slamming his other shield into the bloodshadow and forcing it to retreat. He jumped back, putting distance between himself and the two attackers.

  He recognised her now based on the Truegold briefing he received before the others made their journey. She was the companion of Wei Shi Lindon, the Blackflame.

  "What's your goal?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the tension.

  The woman smirked. "I asked first." She darted forward again, her sword flashing as she struck at him. He parried the blow, then spun to bash the bloodshadow with his shield as it tried to flank him.

  "To me, once you're finished," he barked into the communication construct.

  The construct buzzed, but there was no reply—only a faint, distant wail.

  "Tom!" Lukrasta shouted, his voice rising in panic. "Answer me, damn it!"

  The woman and her bloodshadow pressed their attack, forcing him into a defensive stance. He was holding his own, but barely. The bloodshadow's lack of a weapon gave him an opening to strike it, but he was too busy defending to mount a proper counterattack.

  Then, the woman's armour buzzed. "Done here," a man's voice said. "On my way to you."

  "You hear that?" the woman called out, her voice taunting. "Your Highgolds are dead."

  Lukrasta's heart sank. He was outmatched and outnumbered. He needed a way out—fast. "The other golds are attacking the Blackflame Empire as we speak," he said, hoping to buy time.

  The woman's expression didn't change, her face unreadable. He braced himself for another attack, but then her armour buzzed again.

  "Yerin, we need to go!" the same man's voice came through, urgent and tense. "They're after Lindon and Sadi!"

  That got her attention. She hesitated, then slammed her sword into its sheath. "Bleed and bury me," she muttered into the construct. "I'm on my way."

  Then her eyes sharpened onto Lukastra, and in that moment, he realised he had lowered his guard when the woman sheathed her sword. He had not paid attention to the bloodshadow. Looking down at his chest, where he felt a piercing pain, he realised he was already dead. A red arm pierced through his chest, and blood squirted out of the wound.

  His lips parted, but no sound came.

  The woman met his gaze. Her expression was already turning away, disinterested. "Should've kept your guard up."

  Lukrasta's vision blurred. The Doomdryte tumbled from his fingers.

  Then—nothing.

  "What took you so long?" Whitehall asked as Yerin finally caught up to him. The two of them sprinted through the forest, their footsteps crunching against the underbrush as they raced toward the Blackflame Empire camp. The air was thick with tension, the distant sounds of battle echoing through the trees.

  "Truegold with two shields ain't that easy to beat with a sword," Yerin replied, her voice sharp but not unkind. She adjusted her grip on her blade as they ran, her bloodshadow flickering faintly at her side. "How'd you know they're after Lindon?"

  "Made one of them cough up what they know before I finished our task," Whitehall said, his tone matter-of-fact. "According to her, they're after Lindon and the Wastelanders."

  "You killed them?" Yerin asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at him.

  "Incapacitated," Whitehall corrected. "No point killing when you're playing a Monarch's game. You learn anything from the Truegold?"

  "The rest of their army's conducting a surprise attack on our camp," Yerin grunted, her annoyance palpable. "You think Eithan knew?"

  Whitehall smirked beneath his mask. "Would it surprise you if he had?"

  Yerin huffed. "Reckon not."

  Whitehall guessed Eithan's plan was working—forcing the two of them to actually talk. Strange , speaking to Yerin with more than one word at a time.

  But not unpleasant.

  Sadi sat on the ground, attempting to count as many purple fruits as she could see for a game she was playing with Mercy. Whitehall had told her of Meatball's departure, and she was sad when she said her goodbyes. Neither Whitehall nor Meatball told her why Meatball had left; Whitehall had said that he would tell her when they were 'truly' alone.

  Then, a few days ago, Eithan sent Yerin and Whitehall to sneak into the Seishen camp and poison their supplies. She felt uncomfortable about Yerin leaving with Whitehall. Yerin was a force to be reckoned with, that is true, but Sadi's light path would be more suited for sneaking in undetected than Yerin's sword path. Today, Eithan sent her and Mercy to replace the Skysworns who guard the supply lines between their camp and the portal.

  "How many did you count?" Mercy asked her from above, descending from the trees of Tsu. The Heaven's drops had done wonders for Mercy; her balance was now better than Sadi had ever seen.

  "Sixty-four," she answered.

  "What?" Mercy exclaimed. "How? I only saw forty-two."

  Sadi was about to raise her hand and point towards the fruits hidden in the shadows of thick leaves nearby when her perception warned her. Mercy noticed it , too, and looked to the side, where a Truegold sacred artist unveiled his spirit. Two Highgolds walked behind him side by side.

  The Truegold had a wolf-ish expression, his eyes gazing at them like a predator's. "I found you, Wastelanders," he snarled. He unsheathed two swords from his back and cycled madra into the blades, which caused the blade to ripple with green force madra. "Your Remnants should remember the name of the man who killed you! I am Seishen Daji."

  Mercy waived, "Hello, Daji, I'm Mercy!"

  Daji's grip on his swords tightened.

  "Mercy, handle the Highgolds," Sadi said, her voice steady. As a Highgold herself, Mercy would be protected by the rules of engagement, preventing Daji from attacking her directly. "I'll handle the Truegold," Sadi added, unsheathing her knives.

  Mercy nodded reluctantly and transformed her staff into a bow.

  "Foolish," Daji muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You should surrender now, and I'll make it quick." When neither of them moved, his grin widened. He signalled his two servants to engage Mercy.

  "Yes, my Prince," they replied in unison.

  Sadi gulped; the Truegold was a prince. Having experienced the power of nepotism, she knew this would not be easy. She readied her technique and met Seishen Daji's swords.

  A few minutes later, she realised she was utterly wrong. The fight was easier than she thought. He was a good fighter- very good, she would argue. But he would have been better off covering his face. Seishen Daji's emotions were practically painted on his face, and he got frustrated easily, making his movements predictable.

  His face scrunched up as his sword slashed through nothing. Sadi's Lightcloak technique hid her form from him as she slashed her knife, aiming for his neck. The defensive construct in his armour activated and pushed her back. For a moment, her technique flickered, and Daji's gaze fell on her location. He rushed in for another slash, and Sadi activated her Blindingwrath technique at his eyes.

  Daji's steps faltered as he covered his eyes with his swords. "Face me, you hag!" he yelled, his voice trembling with rage.

  She almost pitied him. In his frustration and desperation, she saw a reflection of her younger self—angry, insecure, and constantly trying to prove her worth.

  She didn't know why she spoke to an enemy trying to kill her, but the words spilt out anyway. "You're a younger brother, aren't you?"

  Daji's expression darkened, and he lashed out blindly , sending a wave of force madra in her direction. "A barbarian wouldn't understand me!" he growled.

  "Let me guess," Sadi replied, dodging the blast and sending another Blindingwrath at him. "Your parents look at you with disdain, and deep down, you know you'll never be enough." She dropped her Lightcloak for a moment, revealing herself to him. "That you'll never live up to them."

  "Shut up!" Daji screamed, his movements a blur as he jumped towards her, but found that his sword had slashed through nothing but air again. He breathed hard as he pulled his sword from the ground. "Do not pretend that you know me," he seethed.

  "I'm not," Sadi said softly, her tone almost sympathetic. "But you remind me of myself once upon a time. Always in the shadow of an older sibling."

  The next thing Daji saw was a blur of motion, a flash of light so quick it barely registered. Then came the warmth—liquid pouring from the side of his neck, staining his armour and dripping onto the forest floor. He hadn't felt the cut, hadn't even seen it coming. His vision swam, the world tilting as his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, his swords slipping from his grasp.

  He tried to speak, to curse her, to demand an explanation, but no words came. His mind was a haze, his thoughts fragmented. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of two strong pairs of arms grabbing him under his armpits, hauling him upright. His head lolled to the side, and through the fog of his fading consciousness, he saw her—the Wastelander. Her lips moved, her voice barely reaching him.

  "You need to let it go," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Find another path."

  Daji's vision darkened at the edges, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light. "My prince!" a distant voice shouted, filled with panic and desperation. Then, everything went black.

  House of Blades

  Iteration requested. Amalgam.

  Date. Denied

  Report Complete.

  Dayang stepped out of her house, the morning sun casting a warm, golden glow over the small clearing where her home stood. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of dew-kissed grass and wildflowers. She adjusted the woven basket on her arm, ready to head into the forest to forage for herbs. But as she closed the door behind her, she froze, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the boy in black standing awkwardly by the edge of the clearing.

  "Oh, not again," she groaned, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Are you going to come here every day? You've been here every morning for the past month."

  The boy—Valiar—laughed sheepishly, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He clutched a bundle of flowers in his hands, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to his dark attire. "Has it really been that long?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

  "Are you going to stalk me every day now?" Dayang retorted, her tone sharp but not unkind.

  Valiar's eyes widened, and he began shaking his head and hands furiously . "What? No! No, I just —I wanted to bring you some flowers because you liked them. I'll leave you alone if you ask me to," he stammered, his voice earnest.

  Dayang sighed, her expression softening slightly. She extended a hand toward him, her gaze steady.

  Valiar blinked, looking confused.

  "The flowers," Dayang said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  "Oh!" Valiar exclaimed, his face lighting up with surprise. He handed her the bouquet, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment .

  "Thank you, Valiar," she said coolly, tucking the flowers into a small vase by the entrance of her home . The vibrant blooms added a splash of colour to the otherwise simple decor.

  Valiar smiled, a hint of pride in his expression. "I didn't know you remembered my name."

  "Dayang," she said, introducing herself properly, though her tone remained distant.

  "You're welcome, Dayang," Valiar replied, his voice warm.

  Without another word, Dayang turned and began walking toward the forest path, her basket swinging gently at her side. After a few steps, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. "I'm going to forage some herbs. Would you care to join me?" she asked, her invitation casual, almost offhand.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then, Valiar's voice broke through, filled with surprise and delight. "Yes!" he said, his enthusiasm unmistakable. The sound of him clapping his hands together in quiet celebration followed, making Dayang roll her eyes—though a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.