novelraw Chapter 150 146: Let’s Settle This [3/3]
Chapter 150 146: Let’s Settle This [3/3]
[These next moments happened in eight minutes.]
[This battle was three. Concluding this brief but intense affair.]
Ria raced across the destroyed battlefield.
Fast.
The city around her was barely recognizable now—shattered and cubed structures, torn land, scorched roads, and blood mixed into everything that remained. But through the ruin, there were still survivors.
A few hundred civilians.
A few hundred soldiers.
Still alive.
Still useful.
If they were the fuel feeding Eirian's rise—if their faith, their need, their hope was what Blue Horizon drew from—then all Ria had to do was cut the source.
Or better.
Claim it.
Turn their fear into submission.
A wave of power through her Malefic OnlyFans.
She smiled as she moved.
Because either way—
She won.
A blaze of blue tore through the distance behind her.
Eirian.
She was coming.
Fast.
A trail of burning blue energy and starlight followed her like a comet dragging itself across the broken world. She wasn't fresh. Wasn't anywhere near full strength.
And she knew it.
She knew Ria would make it first.
That was the problem.
She was tired.
Spent.
Hollowed out by everything that had happened.
And still—
She chased.
Because everything had gone wrong.
This tournament was never supposed to be this.
Never supposed to become a bloodbath.
What should've been a brutal but survivable gem hunt had turned into a theatre of gore, where entire armies were erased and the innocent were crushed beneath forces they never asked to be near.
And the worst part—
The part Eirian couldn't let go of—
Was that Curtenail didn't deserve this.
Its people didn't deserve this.
The natives had been trapped in something they never chose, forced to die for the amusement and ambitions of powers far beyond them.
That was never supposed to happen.
She and Caelus were supposed to be their safe haven.
Their answer.
Their shelter in all of this.
Win the tournament.
Minimize the damage.
Protect as many as possible.
That was the goal.
That was always the goal.
And now—
They weren't going to win.
That much was obvious now.
Too much had gone wrong.
But winning the tournament didn't matter anymore.
Not if she could still save what remained.
Not if she could still make sure the last civilians and warriors got out alive.
That—
That was enough.
Her expression hardened.
Her grip tightened.
Then she made her decision.
She angled her sword.
And threw it.
Far.
Far enough ahead that she'd have to commit.
Far enough that there'd be no turning back.
The blade spun through the air, glowing with blue light as it cut a line toward the future she had just chosen.
Then she ran harder.
As she moved, she opened a voice message.
Quick.
Short.
Not enough.
Never enough.
Sent in motion.
It wasn't what she would've wanted to say to the love of her life.
Not like this.
But there wasn't time for anything better.
There was only action now.
Only the next step.
Only what came after this.
Because it didn't matter whether she was Eirian, the Blade of the Dawn, here in Requiem—
Or Annabelle Williams back on Earth.
Saving lives—
Was still saving lives.
And that had always been enough.
———
Ria felt them.
The civilians.
The soldiers.
So close.
Their auras flickered ahead of her—fear, desperation, hope—all of it within reach. Just a bit further. Just one more push and she would have it.
Victory.
A shockwave cracked behind her.
It didn't sound right.
Didn't feel right.
It wasn't an attack.
She didn't turn.
Her perception stretched backward—and what she saw froze something deep inside her.
A line.
Blue.
Cutting across the horizon.
It didn't move like an attack.
It sang.
The distance between it and her didn't shrink naturally—it collapsed. Like the narrative itself bent space to bring it closer faster than it should've been allowed to move.
Ria felt fear crawl up her spine.
Then—
Impact.
Eirian crashed into her.
But something was wrong.
A blade punched through Ria's stomach.
Her eyes narrowed instantly—but her body didn't respond.
Because she couldn't.
Eirian was already on her.
Wrapped around her.
Locked in.
Then it clicked.
Ria's eyes widened.
The blade that pierced Ria—
Had gone through Eirian first.
Through her own body.
Pinning them together.
She had outrun her own weapon.
Met it head-on.
Using her free limbs to bind them.
Her arms.
Her legs.
Eirian's body pressed forward, using her own weight to force them both down.
They tipped.
Fell.
And slammed into the ground—
Impaled together.
Ria screamed.
Her body thrashed violently, Sryun flaring, trying to break free, trying to tear herself away—but Eirian didn't let go.
Blue Horizon poured out of her.
Everything.
Every ounce.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Flooding directly into Ria's body.
Burning.
Overwriting.
Erasing.
Eirian laughed.
Wild and broken.
"You won't get them!"
Her grip tightened.
"I told you!"
The blue light intensified.
Her aura spiraled out of control.
"I will not allow you to LIVE!"
Ria tried to think.
Tried to form something.
A plan.
A counter.
Anything—
But there was no time.
Because Eirian had already decided the ending.
And then—
She detonated.
A blinding, nuclear eruption of blue light exploded outward, consuming everything in its radius. The ground vanished. The air burned. The world itself seemed to pause as the blast tore through it.
And at the center—
Ria's screams—
Were swallowed whole.
———
Caelus felt the explosion.
Even through this place.
Even through whatever strange law now held him here.
It rippled across the outside world like a distant falling star, a pressure so massive it still reached him despite the fact that he was trapped inside something both metaphorical and metaphysical.
A basketball court.
A page layered over reality.
And he was stuck in the bleachers.
With everyone else.
He sat rigidly, jaw tight, unable to move no matter how much he willed his body to respond. It wasn't paralysis in the normal sense. It was more absolute than that. This place had rules. And right now, those rules said he was only a witness.
So he watched.
Sšurtinaui was slumped over nearby, completely passed out, her body finally giving in after everything she had burned through to get here. Both Tinsurnaes were collapsed together a few seats down, their bodies limp and drained, naked and uncaring, too far past exhaustion for dignity to matter. They looked less like victors and more like two souls barely stitched back into the world.
Ozzy was out too.
Completely gone.
He leaned heavily against Tabia, his head tilted to the side, body ruined and finally still for the first time in what felt like forever. Tabia remained awake—but only barely. Her arms were bloodied, blown apart from the strain she had forced through them, the damage ugly and final-looking in a way Caelus hated.
She didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just breathed.
And that alone felt like effort.
Everyone was—
Spent.
Done.
The only movement left in this place was on the court.
The only thing left that mattered—
Was the two of them.
Jamal.
And Jack.
Caelus clenched his jaw harder.
He couldn't sense the battlefield anymore.
Couldn't feel Eirian clearly.
Couldn't feel the civilians.
Couldn't feel the golden wave.
Whatever happened out there was blocked off from him completely, like this place had sealed itself away from the rest of reality until it got what it wanted.
Until the game ended.
His fingers twitched uselessly.
He needed this to end.
Now.
———
"Take the shot, Blood. Why you waiting?"
Jack scoffed, rolling the ball once in his hands. The court felt wrong. Too simple.
Too… limiting.
"This is stupid. Besides—"
His eyes dragged over Jamal, slow and critical. The frayed locs. The torn grey robe tracksuit. The cuts that hadn't closed. The invisible weight of everything that had tried to erase him still clinging to his frame.
"You don't feel it?"
Jamal blinked.
"What?"
Jack tilted his head slightly, voice lowering.
"The weight. Of everything."
Jamal stepped forward and grabbed his face.
"Yo."
A light shake.
"My man."
He pointed toward the hoop.
"Shoot the ball."
Jack frowned, pulling his face back.
"What kind of training did you have?"
Jamal shrugged.
"No training, Blood."
He chuckled.
"This shit just sweet."
Jack paused.
"…sweet?"
Jamal nodded toward the hoop again.
"Yo—shoot the ball."
Jack stared at him for a second longer, trying to find something. A crack. A hesitation. A tell.
Nothing.
"I'm just saying," Jack continued, dragging it out, "I'm surprised you survived. Only the strong get to be near me so—"
"Shoot the ball."
Jack sighed.
"…fine."
He took the shot.
Clean.
Arc smooth.
The ball dropped through the net with a soft swish.
He smirked.
Jamal caught the rebound.
Same spot.
Same stance.
Same motion.
He shot.
Swish.
Jack chuckled.
"Yeah… this is easy."
Jamal didn't respond.
They reset.
Jack shot again.
Different angle.
Slightly deeper.
Still clean.
He glanced at Jamal, expecting something.
Nothing.
Jamal just picked up the ball.
Same angle.
Same rhythm.
Swish.
Again.
Jack's smile lingered, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
He kept talking.
"You know… this is kinda sad. Whole big moment and this is what you got? A pickup game?"
No response.
"You don't even look tired. That's weird. You should be tired."
Jamal dribbled once.
Shot.
Swish.
Jack's jaw tightened just a fraction.
"You know what I think? I think you're stalling. I think you don't actually have anything."
Jamal smiled.
Just a little.
Jack reset again.
Shot.
Make.
Again.
Jamal mirrored it.
Make.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm built.
Jack talked more.
Louder.
Trying to force something.
Anything.
But every time he looked—
Jamal was still smiling.
And that—
Was starting to bother him.
"You mentioned a friend who died."
Jack spun the ball once on his finger, casual.
"Crisper right?"
His smile widened.
"That the rainbow hair girl?"
Jamal's expression changed instantly.
His eyes locked onto Jack in a way that made the air feel tighter.
Jack noticed.
And smiled harder.
He took the shot.
Simple.
Safe.
A clean mid-range jumper from just inside the arc.
Swish.
Jamal caught the ball on the bounce, walked to the exact same spot, and shot it without hesitation.
Swish.
Jack rolled his shoulders.
"Ohhh."
There it is.
He got the ball back, bounced it once, and took the same shot again.
Swish.
Jamal followed.
Same form.
Same angle.
Same result.
Swish.
"Yeah, her."
Jack dribbled lazily, still talking as he lined himself up again.
"She was meant to die, you know."
He released the ball.
Swish.
Jamal caught it, stepped into the same spot, and let it fly.
Swish.
A shrug from Jack.
"Like… come on. Look at all this. You really think someone like that was making it out?"
He took the next shot.
Same place.
Same safe release.
Swish.
Jamal answered with the same shot.
Swish.
Jack laughed.
"And honestly? The funniest part is you."
He pointed the ball at him before tossing it up again.
Swish.
"Your friend dies in the middle of a fight, and this is what you choose? Not very gangster of you…"
Jamal caught the rebound and sent it through the net from the exact same angle.
Swish.
Jack gestured around the court.
"A game of HORSE?"
He took another one.
Swish.
Jamal mirrored it again.
Swish.
"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard."
Jack caught the ball and dribbled in place for a second, then rose into another jumper.
Swish.
"But hey… I get it."
Jamal's turn.
Same shot.
Same rhythm.
Swish.
"This is gonna be a crazy turnaround for me."
Jack bounced the ball once, then shot again.
Swish.
"Like, imagine it. The main character gets dragged into some side character's weird little streetball tantrum…"
Jamal followed with the same exact shot.
Swish.
"…and still comes back and wins the tournament."
He smiled as the ball dropped through again.
Swish.
Jamal caught it and answered.
Swish.
The rhythm became annoying.
Shot.
Swish.
Return.
Swish.
Shot.
Swish.
Return.
Swish.
"You never touched a woman before."
Jack blinked, caught off guard as Jamal passed him the ball.
"What?"
Jamal didn't move from his spot, just watched him.
"You never had a bitch suck ya dick, huh?"
Jack's face flushed instantly.
"I'm good with girls!"
"You called them girls." Jamal shook his head slowly. "Yeah… you definitely get no bitches. Continue ya shot, Blood."
Jack fumbled the ball slightly before catching it again.
"What are you talking about? Girls like me! And calling them girls doesn't mean I haven't had any—umm—do—"
"You have no idea how a woman feels."
Jack threw his hands up.
"Bro! What the—what does that have to do with—"
"You the main character, right?"
Jack straightened.
"Yeah! You admit it—"
He moved his hand forward instinctively, like the storm would answer him.
Like the power would come back.
Nothing happened.
Jamal stared at him.
Then smirked.
"WOW."
He laughed under his breath.
"No wonder you got no bitches."
Jack's jaw tightened.
"What—"
"What main character got no bitches?"
Jack scoffed.
"You don't even know what a protagonist is. What do you know about main characters?"
Jamal shrugged.
"Just 'cause I don't speak Spanish don't mean I don't understand ego, little bitch."
"I'm not a little bitch!" Jack snapped. "I'm Jack—"
"Little bitch."
Jamal pointed at the hoop.
"Take the shot."
"Stop calling—"
"Take the shot."
Jack's grip tightened on the ball.
"Fuck—fuck—fuck you!"
He threw it up.
The form was rushed.
The ball hit the rim—
Clanged—
And bounced out.
Silence.
Jamal smiled.
Slow and satisfied.
"…hmm."
He stepped forward, grabbing the rebound.
"Seems like you fucked up, Blood. You wanted this, right?"
He caught the ball, rolled it once across his palm, then casually flicked it from behind his back without even fully turning.
Swish.
Clean.
Jack's eyes widened.
Jamal pointed at him.
"Your turn, Blood."
Jack swallowed, stepped into the same motion, and tried to mimic it.
Clank.
Miss.
A glowing P appeared over his head.
Jamal laughed.
"Ohhh, nah."
He bounced on the balls of his feet, shoulders loosening as if he was back on a block instead of inside some metaphysical death court. Then he started skipping in rhythm, half-rapping under his breath.
"Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch…"
He spun once, smooth and lazy, then launched the ball one-handed without even setting his feet.
Swish.
Jack stared at the hoop like it had betrayed him.
Jamal rolled him the ball.
Jack caught it hard and immediately started talking again, voice rising.
"You don't understand who you're messing with. I'm the chosen one of Qui Tensigon. Messing with me is like messing with a Supreme Family."
Jamal snorted.
"Fuck you."
Jack blinked.
"And fuck Qui Tensigon."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Jamal pointed at him with two fingers.
"You a opp."
Then he gestured vaguely outward, toward the world beyond the court.
"And everybody who rock with you?"
A shrug.
"They opps too."
He bounced once in place, his red-purple aura flickering around him like heat off pavement.
"Back home?"
His smile sharpened.
"I used to terrorize opps."
He nodded toward the hoop.
"Take the shot."
Jack's jaw tightened.
"You're gonna regret this."
"Take the shot."
"You don't know what's going to happen when I get out of—"
"Take the shot."
Jack didn't move.
So Jamal tilted his head and smiled.
"Aight."
The court responded immediately.
A pulse rippled outward through the painted lines and invisible rules of the space.
"New rule."
He held up a finger.
"After one person shoot…"
He pointed between them.
"The other gotta shoot within five seconds."
Jack's eyes widened slightly.
He saw it instantly.
Potential.
Openings.
"Then I make a rule too—"
"Nope."
Jamal cut him off immediately.
Jack stared.
Jamal laughed.
"Nope, Blood. That ain't how this work."
He pointed to the hoop again.
"Take the shot."
Jack clenched the ball tighter.
The five-second pressure already felt like a vice around his chest.
"Shoot."
Jack finally rose into the shot.
The ball hit the front of the rim—
Bounced high—
And missed.
Jamal barked out a laugh.
A glowing O appeared over Jack's head.
P O
Jamal caught the rebound and looked up at the letters with a grin.
"Ooooh."
He bounced the ball once.
"One more."
His eyes dropped to the Glock switch resting on the ground between them.
Then back to Jack.
"And I beat your dumbass to death."
"You're not gonna shoot me?"
Jack's voice cracked just slightly, trying to hide it behind attitude.
Jamal shook his head.
"Naw, Blood."
He bounced the ball once.
"I want you to feel dis."
Jack stood there, breathing uneven. His helmet was shattered, pieces hanging off, exposing his face—black hair matted, yellow-blue eyes flickering with something unstable now.
Something closer to panic.
Jamal watched him for a second.
Then turned away.
He stepped back.
Lifted his leg—
And kicked the ball.
It bounced hard against the ground, ricocheted off the invisible arc, hit the side edge of the court—
Then curved.
Dropped.
Swish.
Silence.
Jack's eyes widened.
Tears formed instantly.
Jamal blinked once.
He hadn't even planned that.
Didn't know it would work.
But it did.
And that was enough.
Because it gave Jack something—
Hope.
Just enough to crush it.
Jamal turned slowly.
Looked at him.
Smiled.
"Now who the side character, little bitch?"
Jack's shoulders trembled.
Tears ran down his face, cutting through the dirt and blood as his hand moved slowly to his pocket.
He pulled it out.
A golden piece of paper.
The page.
The one thing he'd been holding onto.
Jamal frowned slightly.
"What—"
Jack crushed it.
The court shook.
Golden light tore through the space above them, cracking the ceiling of this metaphysical court like it was glass. It poured down in a beam and wrapped around Jack instantly.
Jamal's eyes narrowed.
Jack started laughing.
Unhinged.
"Fuck you, man!"
The light pulled him upward.
"I AM the main character!"
He pointed down at Jamal, laughing through tears.
"Deus Ex Machina, bitch! I won't forget—"
He stopped.
Because of the look in Jamal's eyes.
Jamal stepped forward slightly.
Voice low.
"On my life, Blood…"
His aura flared.
Red-purple burning through the court like something alive.
"I ain't gonna stop till I catch you."
Jack's smile twitched.
"I'ma make your last days something to remember."
Jamal's jaw tightened.
"On Xavion grave, Blood."
He looked up.
Tears in his own eyes now—
"I'ma wack everyone you rock with…"
His voice didn't rise.
"…and eventually…"
A step closer.
"You gonna have to see me again."
A pause.
"Little bitch."
Jack threw up a middle finger, laughing again as the light swallowed him whole.
A flash.
And he was gone.
Out the court.
Out the region.
Out the world.
Out the realm.
And the silence that followed—
Hit harder than anything before it.
———
The court expelled them.
One moment Caelus was trapped in that impossible space, and the next he was back in the ruined world—boots hitting broken ground, aura flaring instinctively as reality reasserted itself around him.
He moved instantly.
Toward Eirian.
Toward where he had felt that explosion.
Toward where his body already knew something was wrong.
Then—
His UI chimed.
A voice message.
From her.
Caelus stopped.
Just for a second.
Then opened it.
Her voice came through rough and breathless, the sound of movement behind every word.
"Hey… I know this is sudden, but I have no more options or time…"
It sounded like she was running.
Caelus's breath caught.
He reached instinctively for her aura—
And found nothing.
Nothing.
His body went still.
The message kept going.
"The girl I'm fighting is a real monster. I have to stop her."
Her breathing sharpened in the recording.
"We already failed the tournament… and most of the lives that depended on us."
A pause.
"But we did our best."
Caelus lowered his head slightly.
"And I couldn't ask for a better man by my side."
His fingers tightened.
"I love you, Steven Hilt."
The battlefield disappeared around him.
Everything else dulled.
"This world would have been so lonely without you."
His throat tightened painfully.
"I love you forever and ever."
Her voice cracked just slightly there.
"I wish I could say more… but I can't."
A breath.
Then softer.
"Please don't worry about me."
That hurt more than anything.
"Save the remainders… and if you can, survive the tournament."
He closed his eyes.
"I love you, Steven."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"I regret nothing."
A final breath.
"And I'm thankful for your existence."
Then, quiet.
"I love you."
The message ended.
Caelus just stood there.
Still.
Tired.
Emotionally hollowed out in a way no wound had ever managed to do.
Eirian was dead.
Annabelle was dead.
And there wasn't even time to fall apart properly.
He exhaled once.
Slow.
Long.
Then straightened.
Because she had told him what to do.
Keep moving.
So he did.
He gathered himself—whatever was left of himself—and turned away from the place where her aura should have been.
Then he ran.
Toward the civilians.
Toward the ones still left.
Because grief would have to wait.