CHAPTER 30 — EVERYONE x NEEDS x A x MONIKER
⟢───── Ashes × Aether ─────⟣
NATION OF X'OMNERA, THE PULSE — THE LONG WAY AROUND.
Something was different the second time they stepped into The Pulse.
More drones.
More XPA patrols.
More armored silhouettes perched on rooftops.
All equipped with PCU-X11's, the emitter tech widely known to be issued to X'Omnera Paramount Authority.
But the people?
Unchanged.
Still dancing, shouting, chasing neon impulses like nothing mattered except the next high, the next win, the next bad decision.
Talla tugged her hood lower. “Are we sure walking straight through here again is smart?”
“No,” Riven said. “But the short way has more cops.”
Set didn’t respond. He watched the way crowds parted around XPA like they were just another light fixture.
Surveillance was apart of the routine.
They cut through a side street and overheard two tech runners that wore the same flags cartel members from Lily's did. They were talking fast:
“—swear on Hagg, it’s a new emitter upgrade.
"Steals your whole moveset, dawg. Copies it like data. Then whoops you with it"
“Bullshit.”
“Alright, when the XPA has you in one of these alleys butchering you with your own shit, remember this conversation.—”
Riven slowed. “We keep hearing about these emitters."
He began to mock " they 'neutralize', they 'steal'. That’s—”
“Bullshit, just like the cartel dork said.” Talla finished Rivens sentence.
Set didn’t sound convinced either. “We’d have seen it already if it existed.”
“Yeah,” Riven agreed. “But it’s X’O. I've already seen enough to know, whatever's going on here, is exactly what everyone back home always said was. Bunch of bad juju man."
"Funny thing is, they don't know just how right they all were."
None of them liked that thought.
They kept walking.
The trio cut through a side alley where the noise thinned for half a second.
Riven stretched his arms behind his head. “So… Otto knows us. Vei knows us. Half the Rustline was watching us the other night. I’m just saying we kinda got motion.”
Talla scoffed. “Motion? We're basically never going back home and we're about to participate in a blood ritual just to afford Sets next round of Therapy”
"And between me and you, he's been grumpier than ever"
Talla and Riven shared brief laughter. Set rolled his eyes as he sighed.
“Hey,” Riven said, pointing between them, “two nations, zero deaths. That’s legacy material.”
Set didn’t even look at him. “That’s not a legacy, Riv. That's our names on a wanted list.”
Riven snapped his fingers. “Well if you put it like that, it sounds even more badass. And badasses need a team name.”
“No,” Set said immediately.
Talla groaned. “Riven, you're such a loser—”
“Triple Kill,” Riven announced proudly, like he’d been sitting on it for days.
Both of them stopped walking.
“How long have you been thinking of that one genius,” Talla said.
“Absolutely not,” Set added.
Riven threw his hands up. “What? It’s iconic! There’s three of us. We're killing this whole exile thing. Triple Kill. It sells itself!”
Talla rubbed her face. “It sounds like one of the 'pleasure experiences' they're selling in all these bars.” She said mockingly.
Set grunted. “It sounds stupid.”
Riven shrugged, unfazed. “You’ll see. One day people are gonna chant it.”
Talla rolled her eyes. “The day that happens, I’m retiring. We've officially crossed into the mainstream. Booo.”
Set shook his head, kept walking toward BlackJack’s.
But Riven didn’t miss the tiny smirk Set tried to hide.
“Triple Kill,” Riven whispered again, satisfied. “Rocking.”
They headed about another mile into The Pulse district before reaching.
BLACKJACK’S
BlackJack’s Gambling Hall was massive from the outside but stepping inside made the exterior feel like a lie.
It was bigger on the inside.
Ten floors at least.
Maybe twenty.
Maybe the whole building was some sort of neon illusion.
A modern wonder of X’Omnera excess.
Slot rails hummed along the walls, each screen stacked with animated sigils, glowing creatures, and neon characters dancing with every spin. Advanced Robot dealers stood at blackjack and poker tables, their faces clean projections shifting between polite smiles and cold probability readings. Crownfall prop bets updated live on towering screens:
EXPEDITION TEAM — SURVIVAL ODDS:
24 MEMBERS REMAINING
PROJECTED RETURN: 12.5
Talla’s ears flattened.
Set’s tail stiffened.
Riven muttered, “Woooow. Yeah. Love that for them.”
They had no idea where the UCL entrance was until Set noticed a group of high-rollers stepping into a glass elevator guarded by two silent bouncers.
“Up there,” he said.
They walked over.
The bouncer didn’t speak just handed them a card with a string of numbers.
Each number scratched in by hand.
“Are we supposed to—” Riven began.
DING.
The elevator opened.
Instinct took over all three stepped inside.
The doors closed.
THE CODE
A keypad lit up on the elevator’s side panel.
Letters.
Not numbers.
Talla blinked once. “Oh. I remember this. Academy elective. It's Metra! The numbers correspond to—”
She snatched the card from Set and typed the letter equivalents fast.
The panel beeped.
The elevator didn’t go up.
It warped.
The walls rippled into light, the floor dropped like a screen refresh and the trio reappeared in a new room altogether.
UCL — PLAYER ENTRY LEVEL
Dim.
Loud.
Sand in the air.
The distant roar of a crowd hitting them like a wave.
A registration desk sat under a blown-out light.
A single staffer, thin, stressed, clearly on hour 14 of his shift sat behind a cracked tablet.
He didn’t look up.
“Team name.”
The trio froze.
Riven pointed at Set.
Talla pointed at anyone but her.
Set sighed.
“…Triple Kill.”
Riven whispered, “He loves me.”
Talla whispered, “I hate both of you.”
The staffer tapped the name in like it was the thousandth stupid one he’d heard today.
“Buy-in or bets placed?”
All three stared.
Set: “…No bets.”
The man stopped typing.
Finally looked at them.
“No bets,” he repeated flatly. “At the UCL.”
Talla tried to smile. “We’re just here to—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t explain.”
He stamped three metal wristbands and slammed them on the desk.
“Fresh meat. No bets. Whole floor’s gonna think you’re either suicidal or rigged. Congratulations. Enjoy the target on your backs.”
Riven’s eyes widened. “What the hell, target?”
But the damage was already done.
Around them, whispers spread:
“No bets?”
“Zeroed-out newcomers?”
“They hiding something.”
“Who the hell shows up broke? I'm not buying it.”
Set felt what felt like every eye landing on them.
The first match was announced on the intercom.
“TEAM TRIPLE KILL — CAGE SIX.
Report immediately.”
Riven sighed and glanced the crowd for the staffer from earlier "Wait.. it's just Triple Kill.”
Set adjusted his gold link tribal gauntlets.
“It’s too late to change it.”
Talla groaned. “We’re gonna die and our team name sounds like a like an academy kids gamer tag.”
Set cracked his knuckles.
“Except we're not academy kids.” He winked at the other two as violet aether slowly hummed over his fur coat like black smoke.
The crowd roared behind the walls.
The first match was waiting.
⟢───── Ashes × Aether ─────⟣