The Grand Arena. Match 1. The magic arrays hummed, weaving light into matter. The flat stone floor of the coliseum groaned as it was overwritten by a complex topographical illusion. Skyscrapers of grey concrete erupted from the ground. Rusted iron bridges spanned across artificial rivers of sludge. Broken subway entrances gaped like toothless mouths. [Map: The Ruined City (Sector 7).] [Objective: Capture the Flag.] [Weather: Acid Rain (Light).] On the Blue Side: Sky-High Academy. They were the darlings of the tournament. Their uniforms were white and gold, enchanted with levitation glyphs. Their captain, Zephyr (Rank B+ Wind Mage), didn't even touch the ground. He hovered three meters in the air, looking down at the muddy ruins with a sneer of disgust. On the Red Side: Ashbone Squad. They looked like they had crawled out of a sewer. Barnaby wore a tank top that was struggling to contain his muscles. Elara was cleaning her glasses with a dirty rag. The other three students hel

The Grand Arena. The Final Match.The sun beat down on the white sand of the central coliseum. The magical terrain generator had been turned off. No cities. No forests. No tricks.Just a flat, circular killing floor.[Matchup: Dragon-Tooth Academy vs. Ashbone Squad.][Mode: Total Elimination.]The crowd was screaming. This was the match everyone wanted. The unstoppable military machine vs. the chaotic bandit underdogs.On one side: Dragon-Tooth.Six warriors clad in heavy crimson plate armor. They stood in a phalanx formation.Vulkan (Rank S) stood at the front, wielding a massive obsidian war-hammer that dripped liquid magma. His helmet was shaped like a dragon's skull.On the other side: Ashbone Squad.Barnaby, Elara, and the three others looked small. Their "armor" consisted of gym shorts and the stolen leather boots from Round 1. They were bruised, tired, but their eyes were feral.On the bench, Lin Jin sat with a towel over his head, organizing a row of water bottles."Hey, Janit

The Space Between Worlds. Traveling through a dimensional tear wasn't like walking through a door. It was like being flushed down a cosmic toilet filled with razor blades. Barnaby screamed. Lyra threw up. Vulkan tried to punch the colors blurring past him. Only Lin Jin remained calm, holding Zero tight. He looked at the swirling purple void with nostalgia. "Keep your arms inside the vehicle," Lin Jin shouted over the roar of reality tearing apart. "We are arriving at the terminus." BOOM. Gravity returned with a vengeance. They fell. The Landing. They didn't land on dirt. They didn't land on grass. CRUNCH. SNAP. CRACK. The team impacted a hard, shifting surface. Barnaby groaned, pulling his face out of the ground. "Is this... gravel?" He looked down. It wasn't stone. He was holding a human femur. World 4: The Necro-World. Lin Jin stood up and brushed dust off his librarian uniform. He looked at the horizon. It was Cinematic and horrifying. There was no ocean of water. T

The Gate of Lament. Necro-World Outer Ring.The Dullahan stood twenty feet tall. Its armor was made of black coffin iron, radiating a freezing aura that turned the bone-dust on the ground into frost. In its right hand, a massive spinal whip cracked the air. At its belt hung its own severed head—a rotting, bearded face with glowing green eyes that screamed commands."SILENCE!" The Head screamed. "TURN BACK, FLESH-BAGS. OR BE FLAYED."Lin Jin leaned on the railing of the Bone-Ark, looking bored."Vulkan," Lin Jin said. "You wanted a job? Clear the road."Vulkan stepped off the ship. He cracked his neck, magma veins pulsing under his skin. He was eager. He had been humiliated by the Librarian; he needed to prove he wasn't just a janitor."I will melt him down," Vulkan growled.The Fight."Magma Armor: Ignite!"Vulkan roared, his skin turning cherry red. He charged like a bull, his fists leaving trails of smoke.The Dullahan didn't move. The Head on its belt sneered."FIRE IS WEAK HERE."

The Spire of Silence. The Pit. The arena wasn't a stadium. It was a funnel. Millions of tons of crushed bone formed a slippery, jagged bowl. At the bottom, the "stage" was a circle of black iron, stained with eons of dried marrow. There were no cheers. The audience—ten thousand high-tier undead—did not scream. They rattled. The sound of thousands of femurs hitting stone, of jaws clacking together. A dry, insectile applause. High above, suspended on a platform of floating ribs, sat the Death Emperor. He was small. Lin Jin, watching from the shadows of the competitor's tunnel, noted this immediately. The Emperor wasn't a giant. He was a child-sized skeleton wrapped in robes of woven shadows. A crown of black fire drifted inches above his skull. He looked bored. And boredom in a God is a catastrophe waiting to happen. The Living Furnace. Vulkan stood in the tunnel. He was shaking. Not from fear. From suppression. Lin Jin had coated him in "Lich Dust"—the ground-up remains of