novelraw Chapter 154 - 150: Winner! Winner! Time To Sign Up!
Chapter 154 - 150: Winner! Winner! Time To Sign Up!
This year's Fortune Holder had ended.
And this year—
Was the bloodiest in its history.
Over 490 million competitors and Freelancers had attended.
And only eight survived.
With two of them not even having signed up in the first place. And another two who signed up late.
All the prodigies.
All the established killers.
All the seasoned veterans and polished monsters who entered expecting to carve through another year of spectacle—
Had fallen.
To a group of newcomers.
A ragged, absurd collection of fresh names that by all reasonable logic should have died long before the end.
And yet—
They didn't.
Only two Rankers were in that surviving group:
The Mad Reaper.
And Colora Queen of Sēēķňè—
Both of whom had signed up three weeks late.
The rest?
Newly recognized Rankers.
Forged in blood.
Validated by survival.
And that alone would have made this year historic.
But this wasn't just about contestants.
Because this year—
More than participants died.
Gods died.
Worlds died.
Entire realities were maimed in the brief and arrogant strife of Supreme Families treating existence like a table they could flip when disrespected.
Millions of faiths—
Gone.
Species—
Erased.
Histories—
Deleted.
All because beings too powerful to be challenged decided offense was worth apocalypse.
And speaking of disrespect—
The gods overseeing the tournament had been slaughtered too.
Out of the millions who attended with chosen ones, prophecies, blessings, and carefully crafted destinies—
Most had been snuffed out as collateral.
Their followers.
Their heralds.
Their divine systems.
Their stories.
All reduced to debris in someone else's conflict.
By the end of it—
Trillions had died.
And Delark—
A planet once teeming with civilizations, wars, faiths, and futures—
Was consumed in gold.
An offering.
Swallowed whole by the Primordial Golden Viper.
And so something new formed across the realms in the aftermath.
Not fear.
Not outrage.
But interest.
A sharp, invasive kind of intrigue.
Because one question now hung over too many worlds to ignore:
Why would the Jafar Empire—
And the Three Supreme Families—
Basingal,
Vari,
Rituian,
And apparently…
Qui Tensigon—
All help fund and support an event for entertainment…
Only for it to collapse into ruin on this scale?
That wasn't just spectacle anymore.
That was a statement.
And statements like this always had meaning.
So the realms did what they always did after disaster.
They watched.
They listened.
They speculated.
Because if there were answers—
If there was a reason behind all this blood, all this waste, all this impossible survival—
Then everyone understood the same thing.
Those answers could only come—
From the survivors.
———
North opened his eyes—
Then immediately regretted it.
Pain lanced through them so sharply he shut them again almost on instinct.
For a second, he just lay there.
Still.
Breathing.
Trying to understand what exactly was happening.
The air around him felt too clean.
Too filtered.
And beneath that sterile crispness—
There was a smell.
Warm.
Bready.
Slightly burnt.
He frowned.
Why the hell did it smell like toasted bagels?
That alone told him this wasn't death.
Or at least not the kind he expected.
He stayed still for another moment before deciding to cheat.
He reached for his aura.
Cautiously.
He wasn't even sure it would work in his condition.
But when he pushed outward—
It answered.
Barely.
The world around him flooded into his perception in a hazy wash of red.
Blurry.
Soft at the edges.
Like reality had been dipped in blood and then wiped down with glass cleaner.
But it was enough to make things out.
He was in a room.
A hospital room—
But not like anything he'd ever seen back on Earth.
The walls were made almost entirely of reinforced glass, curving upward and around in elegant black-gold framing that made the whole space resemble some kind of luxury aviary.
Or a bird cage.
Not in a cruel way.
In a beautifully expensive way.
Tall, arched panes of transparent crystal-glass enclosed the room in a circular pattern, each segment separated by thin dark bars etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly. The ceiling above him curved into a domed lattice of black metal and clear material, letting in filtered natural light from somewhere beyond, though the glow had a soft amber tint like late afternoon trapped in expensive architecture.
Beyond the glass, he could make out silhouettes of hanging gardens and suspended walkways, little flashes of gold-white birds or constructs moving through the distance, and what looked like floating medical lanterns drifting silently past. Though to North it was all just red.
His bed sat in the center of the room on a raised circular platform, surrounded by hovering instruments and strange crystalline monitors that displayed symbols and shifting health metrics in languages his aura only half translated. Thin tubes of glowing fluid fed into nearby apparatuses, though thankfully none seemed to be stabbed into him anymore.
The whole room had the vibe of someone saying:
"Yes, you almost died horrifically. But you'll recover in style."
North slowly checked his body.
And paused.
Because…
He wasn't nearly as destroyed as he should've been.
That fight with Cawren should've left him ruined.
Missing things.
Broken beyond convenience.
But now?
He still felt weak.
Still sore.
Still stitched together by what felt like divine malpractice and expensive medicine.
But he was intact.
Mostly.
A few wraps.
A few healing seals.
Residual ache everywhere.
But not death.
Not even close to how bad it should've been.
The last thing he remembered was the announcement.
That they won.
So…
Was this what came after?
A winner's ward?
A recovery chamber?
A rich people trauma nest?
North kept his actual eyes closed and let the red haze of his aura do the work as he slowly turned his head and looked around more carefully.
Trying to figure out—
Where the hell he was.
A soft poof hit the air.
North's head spun slightly toward it.
And something tiny hovered into his red haze of perception.
A woman.
Well—
A very, very small woman.
Maybe the size of a thick pencil if he was being generous.
She hovered beside the bed with quick, excited movements, wearing a little nurse uniform tailored perfectly to her proportions. Her eyes were absurdly large and bright blue, sparkling with the kind of energy that made it seem physically impossible for her to be quiet. Blonde hair tied into a bun, her wings weren't feathered or insect-like either—
They looked like bubbles.
Actual iridescent bubble-wings trembling softly behind her with every movement.
North chuckled.
"You're awake, sir!"
"Don't let the closed eyes fool you."
"Oh! Oh, oh, oh!"
She zipped around him in a loop, then another, then stopped above his chest like she was trying very hard not to vibrate out of excitement.
"You recovered fast! Yes!"
She pumped a tiny fist in the air.
North let his head rest back into the pillow.
"I'm just as glad as you."
The fairy grinned wide.
"You just won me some nice Xelecti."
North blinked behind his closed eyes.
"…what?"
She rubbed her tiny hands together with absolutely zero shame. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"There was a highly spirited speculative investment pool among the attending recovery staff regarding your wake-up window."
North slowly turned his head toward where she hovered.
"…you bet on when I'd wake up."
She gasped.
"Nooo."
A beat.
Then—
"…maybe..."
North stared in silence.
She brightened again immediately.
"I had you waking up before third cycle after stabilization! Everyone else thought you'd be unconscious for at least six or seven more! But I said, 'No, no, no, he has the face of a man who wakes up out of spite.'"
North snorted.
"So y'all are just nurses with gambling addictions."
She put both hands on her tiny hips.
"We prefer financially intuitive morale games."
"…sure."
"And now," she said proudly, "my squad gets the Xelecti."
North exhaled through his nose.
Of course.
Of course this place had fairy nurses running hospital pools on critically injured people.
Naturally.
He shifted slightly in bed.
"You're not gonna check me or something?"
"Oh, yes, eventually."
She waved a hand.
"But first I need to message everyone that I won and alert the Narloic Officer that you're awake."
North frowned slightly.
"Am I under arrest?"
She looked genuinely horrified.
"No!"
Then, after a tiny pause—
"That'd be silly."
She floated upward a bit, gesturing with both tiny hands.
"You won, Champion. This is just what happens to all the winners."
North absorbed that in silence for a second.
Then asked the only thing that actually mattered.
"…is everyone okay?"
The fairy nodded immediately.
"Yes."
North took a slow, deep breath.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Some of the tension left his body.
Not all of it.
But enough.
The little fairy then pulled out what looked like a string of tiny windchimes wrapped around a cluster of polished rocks and started tapping and chiming them together in a sequence that somehow clearly functioned as communication.
North stared at the sound.
Then looked away.
He absolutely was not going to ask how that worked.
Instead, he let his head sink back into the pillow again.
His eyes were still closed.
Still hurt too much to open.
So he just waited.
Quietly.
For her to come back.
Because now that he knew they were alive—
He only wanted one thing.
The little fairy came zipping back over almost immediately, still buzzing with victory.
"Okay! Good news!"
North didn't move.
"Lemme guess. You're rich now."
"Temporarily richer," she corrected as she hovered over him and started checking things with a floating cluster of tiny glass charms and glowing threads. "There's a difference."
She pressed a little glowing sigil to his forehead.
North winced.
"You know," she said casually, "with what I won today, I'm thinking moon-silk slippers, sugarwine, maybe rent one of those floating koi spas—"
She moved down to inspect one of the healing seals around his shoulder.
"—or maybe I'll just be financially irresponsible and buy six crystals."
"What do they do?"
"They're just decorative. No Ryun abilities… but they're so pretty."
North kept his eyes closed.
"Sound reason."
"Thank you."
She tapped another charm against his ribs and hummed in approval.
"Then again," she continued, "if Velli and Murr are also paying out, I might go all in and get one of those cloud hammocks."
North tilted his head slightly.
"A cloud hammock?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"Don't act like Earth doesn't have inferior versions called memory foam!"
North snorted softly.
"Fair."
She flew lower and waved one glowing thread over his broken-arm repair site.
"Maybe I'll go dancing too," she added. "Or get fried honey petals. Or pay someone to braid tiny gemstones into my wings."
North nodded like this was a normal conversation and not a medical check-up.
"You deserve it."
"I do," she agreed immediately.
He shifted slightly, then asked—
"So where are we?"
She straightened up a little, pleased to finally be asked something she could answer dramatically.
"You are still in the realm of Yulem."
North frowned faintly.
"Still?"
"Oh yes," she said while checking his pulse through a hovering ring of bubbles. "Just… very, very far from Delark."
"How far?"
She twirled once in the air.
"Different galaxy."
North paused.
Then let out a tired little breath through his nose.
"…of course."
She kept going like that was perfectly reasonable.
"You are currently on Fiqht."
North turned his head slightly toward her.
"Spell that."
The fairy immediately traced a series of glowing symbols in the air—curved, layered, and completely incomprehensible.
North stared.
"…that means nothing to me."
She looked offended.
"It means something to me."
"I bet you just made that up…"
Then she crossed her tiny arms.
"For the record, I did not make that up."
North chuckled.
Which immediately made him groan from the pain.
The fairy froze.
Then gasped.
"Oh no."
She zipped upward in alarm.
"Oh no, no, no— I forgot to actually do the important part of the check-up."
North, still wincing, muttered—
"That's… comforting."
She flew back down in a panic, now actually serious as she started checking everything much faster.
"Hold still, sir! Stop being funny while injured!"
"I can't help it," North muttered, still lying there. "Occupational hazard. I joke through pain."
The fairy didn't even look up from what she was doing.
"Very self-aware, sir."
North made a face.
"Please don't call me sir with those eyes."
She paused mid-hover.
"…with what eyes?"
"Those big, sparkling, judging me while I'm half-dead eyes."
She tilted her head.
"…they're just my eyes."
"Exactly."
A beat.
"…why, sir," she said slowly, clearly enjoying this now, "what should I call you?"
North huffed.
"Well, what's your name first?"
She brightened.
"It's Myerthie—"
Then immediately snapped back into motion.
"—and wait stop, stop talking, I actually need to finish checking you."
She zipped into place above him and clapped her tiny hands together.
The entire room reacted.
Threads of light pulled in from the glass panels, weaving into a lattice over his body. Symbols layered over symbols, rotating in overlapping rings as if multiple systems were cross-referencing him at once. A faint chime echoed with each pass, the air around him tightening and loosening in pulses.
Myerthie hovered in the center of it all like a conductor.
"Okay, let's see… catastrophic trauma—resolved, partially. Structural integrity—surprisingly stable. Internal systems—rebuilt, fascinating—"
North blinked behind his closed eyes.
"…What's fascinating?"
"Don't worry about it!"
She flicked a hand and a stream of golden motes poured into his chest, sinking into him like sunlight through a curtain.
Heat spread through his body.
Not painful.
Not exactly comfortable either.
"Residual Sryun corruption—being filtered… your blood is still doing weird things but we're gonna pretend that's intentional…" She looked him up and down. "Eyes must still be healing…"
"No really?"
She spun once ignoring him, drawing a circle of light that sealed along his arm where the bone had been pierced.
"Muscle fiber—restored. Nerve endings—relinked. Pain receptors—reduced to 'manageable suffering.'"
North snorted.
"Appreciate that."
"Of course you do."
She darted down, placed both tiny hands on his chest, and pressed.
A ripple went through him.
Deep.
Like something was being aligned from the inside out.
Then—
It stopped.
The lights faded.
The constructs dissolved.
And Myerthie landed lightly on his chest, twirling once before planting a hand on her hip like she had just completed a performance.
"Well?"
She grinned.
"Feel better?"
North rolled his shoulders slightly.
Tested his breathing.
Yeah.
"…yeah."
He smirked.
"Call me North."
She blinked.
"North."
He nodded.
"Yeah."
Then he looked at her.
"And Myerthie… that's a uniquely different name."
She froze.
Then her cheeks tinted just slightly.
She laughed.
"Idiot boy."
North frowned.
"…what?"
"That's the same thing."
"…no it's not."
"Yes it is."
He made a face.
"Idiot boy, I was being nice!"
She pointed at him.
"I am being nice!"
She tilted her head.
"And you still haven't processed that? Maybe you're still under?"
North made a squishing motion over her with his fingers.
"…you know what, I'm too tired for this."
"Good," she said proudly. "Because I'm winning this conversation."
He exhaled, then asked again—
"…you never actually said where we are."
"Oh!"
She perked up again instantly.
"We're in a Narloic healing facility. Specifically, Ti-09."
She floated up slightly as she explained.
"It's one of the primary recovery hubs in this realm, used for major events—wars, tournaments, divine accidents, that kind of thing."
She gestured around the glass structure.
"Full environmental stabilization, multi-layered healing systems, cross-realm monitoring, autonomous recovery protocols… also excellent snacks, I'm pretty sure you noticed."
North snorted.
"That explains the bagels."
"Those are very expensive bagels," she corrected.
"Of course they are."
She continued.
"Ti-09 also has emergency teleport anchors, dimensional buffering in case reality collapses again, and a spectator shield system—though that clearly didn't help Delark…"
North went quiet at that.
Then asked—
"…how long?"
She tilted her head.
"Time's a little weird since you're in a different galaxy than Delark now…"
A small pause.
"But roughly?"
She tapped her chin.
"About two days."
North processed that.
Then she added—
"You're the last one to wake up."
North shot upright.
"What?!"
"Calm down," Myerthie said quickly, throwing both tiny hands up. "All my hard work will go to waste. Relax."
North didn't.
His eyes cracked open slightly—
And the room lights dimmed.
Just a sliver of his gaze showed through the pain, but it was enough.
Red.
Deep red.
With black sigils rotating slowly in each iris like something alive was turning beneath the surface.
"I'm going."
Myerthie flinched.
Only for a second.
Then she straightened up in the air, squared her tiny shoulders, and said with all the authority her pencil-sized body could produce—
"As my patient, you will sit still."
And then—
She flew directly into him.
Full speed.
A tiny fairy nurse missile.
It did absolutely nothing to him physically.
But the sheer absurdity of it snapped something in North's head back into place.
He blinked.
Looked down.
And remembered.
Right.
He wasn't in the tournament anymore.
He wasn't in a death field.
He wasn't on Delark or in Curtenail.
He was back in civilization.
If this counted as civilization.
He exhaled slowly.
"…hey."
Myerthie looked up at him while still trying, with heroic uselessness, to physically push him back into the bed. Her cheeks were puffed out with effort and indignation.
"Sorry about that."
She paused.
North rubbed a hand over his face.
"I'm just…"
He sighed.
"My bad."
That got her to stop.
She hovered there for a second, looking at him properly now.
Really looking.
The red veins running across his hands and up his arm and onto the rest of his body. The way they stopped around his collarbone like whatever marked him had drawn a boundary there. His eyes were closed again now, but the two faintly glowing red vertical lines beneath them made his whole face look like something out of a warning story. His black hair hung just past his shoulders, slightly matted but still carrying that same wild edge.
A handsome demonic looking man.
And he was apologizing to her.
Myerthie coughed lightly into her hand and tried to regain some professional composure.
"I'm sorry too," she admitted. "I got excited. A lot has happened, and with you waking up…"
She smiled sheepishly.
"I kinda lost myself."
Then, with mock dignity:
"My apologies, Sir North."
North cracked a small grin.
"Just North is fine."
She crossed her tiny arms.
"Hey, cut me some slack, okay?"
"Sure, Mey—"
She froze.
"…Mey?"
North smirked.
"I'm not saying that maze of a name."
Her eyes widened in offense.
"Why you—"
"Ahem."
A voice behind her cut through the room.
They both turned.
Standing just beyond the glass-lit threshold was a man dressed cleanly.
Black suit.
Sharp lines.
Pressed to perfection.
A green tie sat neatly against a white shirt, and embroidered onto the right breast pocket was a single elegant N, stitched in a slightly darker green thread that shimmered when the light caught it. His hair was a muted green as well, slightly tousled in a way that somehow still looked intentional, and covering his face was a smooth white mask marked with a dark angular symbol over one side.
"Myerthie," he said evenly. "Mind if I talk to the Blood Prince?"
Myerthie straightened immediately.
Then nodded.
"Of course, Mehqi."
She spun once in the air, then turned and winked at North.
"He's fine," she said brightly. "And absolutely nothing of interest happened."
Mehqi tilted his head slightly.
"If nothing happened…"
A beat.
"Why say it?"
Myerthie froze.
Then pointed vaguely at nothing.
"Good question! I'm needed in another room, gotta go!"
And with that she zipped past him in a blur of bubbles and panic.
North watched her leave.
Then looked back at Mehqi.
"Believe it or not," North said dryly, "the service isn't that bad."
Mehqi turned his masked face toward the doorway she'd vanished through.
"She's just cute."
North gave him a look.
"Definitely because she's cute."
Mehqi said nothing to that.
He simply reached to the side—
And somehow acquired a chair that North was almost certain had not been there a second ago.
He set it down with quiet precision and sat.
One leg crossed over the other.
Hands resting neatly.
Like he had all the time in the world.
Then he looked at North.
"How are you feeling?"
North let his head tilt back slightly against the pillow.
"Eh."
A pause.
"Post-murder clarity, I guess."
Mehqi nodded once.
"That's good."
Then he leaned back in the chair, posture relaxed but eyes—whatever sat behind that mask—focused completely on North.
And just sat there.
Looking at him.
"So this where we play twenty questions?"
Mehqi didn't move.
"No."
A beat.
"I'm here to invite you to join the Narloic Foundation as a Ranker."
North stared at him for half a second.
Then nodded once.
"Okay."
He shifted slightly in bed.
"Nineteen more to go."
Mehqi just looked at him.
No visible reaction.
Just that same steady, masked stillness.
Then he continued like North hadn't said anything at all.
"The Narloic Foundation," he said calmly, "is, for lack of a simpler explanation, one of the primary systems that allows civilization in Requiem to function."
North nodded slowly.
"Which means what exactly?"
Mehqi folded his hands.
"It means we are everywhere."
A pause.
"Or close enough that the distinction rarely matters."
He tilted his head slightly, then said—
"To use an Earth analogy…"
North immediately lifted his head.
"This should be good."
Mehqi ignored that too.
"We are Walmart."
North tilted his head.
Mehqi continued.
"Everyone else…"
A small motion of his hand.
"Is a corner store."
North stared at him.
Then snorted despite himself.
"…that's actually disgustingly clear."
"It usually is. At least for Americans."
Mehqi leaned back slightly.
"The Foundation handles infrastructure across realms. Education. Trade. Logistics. Transit. Public systems. Inter-realm regulation. Civic certification. Archive indexing. Crisis response. Medical access. Recovery facilities such as this one. Resource routing. Labor channels. Cultural preservation when feasible."
North made a face.
"…so y'all basically run society."
"Not entirely."
Mehqi paused.
"But enough of it that people tend to believe we do."
That got a little laugh out of North.
Mehqi continued.
"We are also one of the largest information hubs in Requiem."
North's expression sharpened slightly at that.
"How large?"
Mehqi answered without hesitation.
"Large enough that the breadth of our practical knowledge is often compared to the archival authority of Qui Tensigon."
That made North raise an eyebrow.
"Y'all rival a Supreme Family in information?"
Mehqi folded one leg over the other slightly more.
"Yes. In accessible, organized, and applicable information."
North was quiet for a second.
Then—
"…that's kinda insane."
"It is."
Mehqi's tone stayed even.
"Which is why Rankers matter."
North looked back at him.
Mehqi continued.
"Rankers are individuals who choose to make names for themselves under the broader systems of Requiem. Another name you'll hear is "Freelancer."
His voice never got dramatic.
Which somehow made it sound more important.
"They are not merely fighters. Though combat tends to be the most visible route."
He lifted a hand slightly.
"Some become symbols. Some become mercenaries. Some become protectors, tyrants, celebrities, scholars, architects of war, founders of cities, killers of gods, explorers, entertainers, national assets, liabilities, or all of the above."
North blinked once.
"…that sounds like a stupid amount of freedom."
"It is," Mehqi said plainly. "Provided you survive long enough to exercise it."
That got another little huff out of North.
Then Mehqi got to the point.
"You are not forced to join."
North nodded.
"Good."
"However," Mehqi said, "when someone slays a recognized Ranker…"
A pause.
"They inherit the right to that title."
North's expression shifted just a little.
And Mehqi noticed.
"If they wish," he added, "they may then join the Narloic Foundation in that Ranker's stead."
North stared at him for a second.
Then gave one slow nod.
"…right."
His voice was flatter now.
Because yeah.
That tracked.
That made too much sense.
He killed Cawren.
So now—
This was his seat.
"Do I still get the rewards if I don't join?"
Mehqi tilted his head slightly.
"Rewards?"
North's eyes narrowed.
"For winning. Goddamnit."
A pause.
"And what rank was Cawren?"
Mehqi lifted a single finger.
"I'll answer those in order."
He straightened slightly in his chair.
"First—no."
North blinked behind his eyelids.
"If you do not join, you do not receive any rewards. They are… a members-only benefit."
North exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Of course they are."
"And second," Mehqi continued, "Cawren, the Blazing Tyrant, was ranked 859,456,700."
North stared.
Then laughed.
"That's super fucking high."
Mehqi chuckled softly.
"Considering there are over a 173 quadrillion Rankers across the realms…"
A small pause.
"Being in the hundred millions is considered respectable."
North shook his head slightly, still half-smiling.
"…that's insane."
Then his expression flattened a bit.
"And if I accept?"
Mehqi tilted his head again.
"Then you accept their burden."
North shook his head.
"Burden?"
"If the previous Ranker had active challengers, rivalries, or was involved in ongoing events…"
A beat.
"You may dismiss the events."
Another beat.
"But not the challengers."
North sat with that.
"…does he have any challengers?"
Mehqi didn't answer.
"I can't say."
North balled his fist.
"You haven't accepted."
North clicked his tongue.
"Right."
Then he leaned back slightly.
"What do I actually get for being a Ranker anyway?"
A pause.
"And does winning this tournament add anything?"
Mehqi folded his hands again.
"Becoming a Ranker grants you access."
North raised an eyebrow.
"To what?"
"To the realms."
A simple answer.
But it carried weight.
"Transit permissions. Information privileges. Contracts. Systems access. Recognition across Foundation territories. The ability to operate within and across structured civilizations without being treated as an unknown variable."
North nodded slowly.
"And the tournament?"
Mehqi's tone shifted just slightly.
"The primary value of the Fortune Holder Event is visibility."
A pause.
"Favor."
Another pause.
"Attention from gods, factions, and entities willing to make deals with those who survive."
North snorted.
Mehqi inclined his head.
"However…"
He paused deliberately.
"This year was… irregular."
North huffed.
"That's one way to put it."
Mehqi continued calmly.
"Due to the scale of loss and the interference of multiple Supreme Families…"
"The governing bodies agreed on compensation."
North's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Compensation?"
"All surviving winners," Mehqi said, "have been granted three gifts to choose from."
North leaned forward just a bit.
"Now hold on."
He pointed at Mehqi.
"How can you tell me that—but not whether Cawren has challengers?"
Mehqi didn't miss a beat.
"Because you are asking about becoming a Ranker."
A pause.
"And what you may gain from it."
Another pause.
"That information is relevant to your decision."
North stared at him for a second.
Then nodded once.
"…fair."
His tone shifted.
More focused now.
"Alright."
A small smirk.
"So what are the gifts?"
"I can't say," Mehqi replied evenly. "You haven't joined Narloic."
North stared at him through closed eyes.
Then tilted his head slightly.
"What if I fought you for them?"
That—
Actually made Mehqi laugh.
Not mockingly.
Just… genuinely amused.
"I'm an Intermediate Ranker," he said, settling back into his chair. "The event you won—while brutal—was not high in power."
North said nothing.
So Mehqi continued.
"It consisted primarily of low-rank Rankers and Legendary Cadets."
A small pause.
"A Ranker of my status would have reduced that entire event to a single hour."
Another pause.
"Not a month and two weeks."
North exhaled slowly.
Yeah.
That tracked.
He could feel it.
Even now.
Through the haze.
Through the damage.
Through the leftover exhaustion in his bones—
Mehqi's aura wasn't loud.
Wasn't oppressive.
But it was stable.
He wasn't lying.
"…whatever," North muttered.
Then he pushed himself forward slightly, ignoring the protest from his body.
"I accept."
Mehqi didn't move.
"Noted."
North waved a hand.
"Cool."
Then pointed vaguely toward the outside of the room.
"Now let's get this on."
A small grin tugged at his mouth.
"I wanna move around."
Mehqi watched him for a moment.
Then stood.
The chair behind him—
Was gone before North even processed it.
"Very well."
He adjusted his tie slightly.
"Then let us proceed, Ranker."
A faint pulse moved through the room.
The glass walls shimmered.
Mehqi crossed the room with the same calm, infuriating professionalism and stopped beside a sleek black-gold desk built into the curved glass wall.
Then he pulled out—
Paperwork.
Actual paperwork.
And a tablet.
North stared at him.
Then laughed.
"You can't be serious."
Mehqi looked back over his shoulder.
"It's necessary."
North made a face.
"For what? Bureaucratic emotional damage?"
"For your registration."
Mehqi set everything down neatly.
"You are joining Narloic."
North groaned.
"Of course this comes with forms."
"It comes with many forms."
North actually looked offended.
"That sounds evil."
"Is it evil to be organized?"
A few minutes later, North found himself half-sitting up in bed, moving through document after document with his eyes still closed, one hand signing while the other occasionally paused over things that sounded so absurd they had to be jokes.
Preferred title designation.
Cross-realm legal recognition consent.
Species classification variance acknowledgment.
Potential existential inheritance waiver.
Emergency challenger escalation rights.
North frowned.
"…what the fuck does 'non-linear territory dispute liability' even mean?"
Mehqi, without looking up:
"Try not to own paradoxes."
North stared blindly in his direction.
"That is not a real answer."
"It is the most helpful one."
North sighed and kept going.
His hand moved.
Signed.
Pressed.
Approved.
Initialed.
But his mind wasn't really in the room.
Not fully.
Because every few seconds—
Something flashed.
Cawren's face.
The heat.
The dirt.
The blood.
The mask cracking.
Caroline's death.
Jack escaping.
Ashantiana being erased into the wave.
Curtenail.
The gold.
All of it kept surfacing in little violent pieces behind his closed eyes like his brain was still trying to decide whether it had survived or not.
But he kept signing anyway.
Because he already knew what this meant.
If he was taking Cawren's place—
Then that was exactly what he'd do.
Not inherit his story.
Not carry his conquest.
No.
He'd swallow it.
Take that ugly, grasping, ruinous thing and force it beneath his own.
Conquest would die there.
And Dominance would move forward in its place.
Relentlessly.
A fitting end for that wacko.
Though, to be fair—
North paused with the stylus over one final signature line.
Maybe he was worse.
He shrugged to himself.
Survival was survival.
Who cared if it looked ugly?
He signed.
The final line glowed.
The tablet pulsed once.
The papers folded in on themselves, symbols flashing briefly before sinking into the Foundation's systems.
That caught North off guard.
Something subtle shifted in the room.
In the air.
He was now a Ranker.
An acknowledged Freelancer in the realms of Requiem.
A name the system would carry.
He leaned his head back and looked up toward the ceiling, even though his eyes were still closed.
Mehqi collected the remaining documents with smooth efficiency.
"Thank you," he said calmly. "For making this easy."
North huffed.
"Easy is a strong word."
Mehqi ignored that.
"You are now permitted visitors."
A small pause.
"Or, if you prefer, you may leave your room."
North nodded once.
"So… the challengers? The gifts?"
"You'll get more information as time goes on. Things need to be filed and updated."
"Bleh! But I'm free to go?"
"Of course." Mehqi said, stepping out of the room. "You'll be followed up with later."
That was all he needed.
North pushed himself up slowly.
Every movement reminded him he wasn't fully put back together yet.
He grabbed the robe laid out beside the bed and slipped it on over the long underwear he didn't remember asking for.
"…why is it long?" he muttered.
He tied the robe loosely and stepped forward.
His bare feet touched the floor—
Cool.
Smooth.
He paused there for a second.
Just feeling it.
Pain still lingered in his body. His aura was thin, barely a shadow of what it had been in the tournament. But he was standing.
Alive.
And more importantly—
This wasn't a dream.
And it definitely wasn't one of those Jafar flashbacks.
"…I'll take that as a win."
He stepped out of the room.
The facility opened up around him immediately.
Wide, open walkways curved along the glass architecture, suspended over layers of greenery and floating platforms. Streams of soft light flowed through the space like controlled sunlight, reflecting off polished surfaces and drifting lantern constructs that hovered silently in the air.
Figures moved in the distance.
Some walking.
Some floating.
Some clearly not human.
All of them—
Alive.
North walked without direction.
No destination.
Just moving.
His hands stayed in his pockets as he passed through corridors, across open platforms, down a set of shallow steps that didn't feel like they should exist in something this advanced.
And while he walked—
His mind drifted.
The tournament.
The start.
The chaos.
The Herald.
Jack.
Cawren.
Caroline.
Him winning it all.
Everything stacked on top of each other in fragments.
Not clean.
Not ordered.
Just pieces.
Flashes.
Moments.
Decisions.
He exhaled slowly.
Then stopped.
An arched bridge.
Suspended over a wide open drop filled with layered gardens and flowing air currents that made the whole space feel like it was breathing.
North stepped onto it.
Walked to the center.
And stopped.
The breeze hit him.
Soft.
Carrying the faint scent of whatever passed for life in this place.
It moved through his hair, pushing the long strands back slightly.
For the first time since waking—
There was nothing pressing on him.
No enemy.
No timer.
No system warning.
No expectation.
Just—
Peace.
"…damn."
His voice was quiet.
He leaned slightly against the railing.
And let himself exist there.
For a moment.
He thought of Caroline.
Of how she would've looked at this.
Probably said something sarcastic first.
Then gotten quiet.
Then smiled.
She would've loved this.
The open air.
The calm.
The fact that nobody was trying to kill her for five minutes straight.
"…you ain't deserve this."
His jaw tightened slightly.
But he didn't break.
Just accepted it.
Because she was gone.
And he wasn't.
So that meant something.
It had to.
"I'll carry it," he muttered.
He stayed there a little longer.
Then lifted one hand.
Tried to summon something.
Anything.
A spark.
A flicker.
A sign that he still had something left in the tank.
Nothing came.
Not even a twitch.
He stared at his hand for a second.
Then let it drop.
"…yeah."
He huffed lightly.
"Truly tapped out."
And weirdly—
That didn't feel bad.
To be empty.
Completely empty.
But safe.
That was new.
That was…
Strange.
He wanted to see everyone but right now…
North leaned back slightly against the railing again, letting the breeze pass through him as he just stood there.
Alive.
With nothing left to give—
And nowhere he had to be.
North felt the presence before he heard it.
Easy to recognize.
And somehow lighter than it had any right to be after everything.
He chuckled under his breath and turned.
Jamal was walking toward him in a robe almost identical to his own, except somehow it looked more like streetwear on him than medical recovery attire. His locs hung partly over his face, and he had that same grin on him.
"Yo, savage killa," Jamal laughed.
North smiled immediately.
Honestly—
Not who he expected to be the first person he saw.
But whatever.
It worked.
"Wassup, man?"