BREAK x A x LEG
⟢───── Ashes × Aether ─────⟣
X’OMNERA — THE UCL PLAYER LOBBY
Two days after Triple Kill’s first match.
Five days before Vei’s payment was due.
The player lobby was chaos again. Bets flashing across holo-screens, medics hauling stretchers in a frantic rush. The smell of sweat, blood, and cheap perfume mixing in the air.
Triple Kill walked in like they belonged here now.
Set scanned the room, his ears tall.
Riven hummed a soft tune under his breath. He said it was something new he had been working on.
Talla adjusted the hood on her coat, tail flicking once behind her.
Otto was already waiting for them — leaning against one of the steel support columns. Pom leaf in hand, looking way too relaxed for a man who counted favors.
He smiled when he saw them.
“Two days,” he said —pointing up at the screen showing Sets fatality on Remi from their previous match— “And the bookies still haven’t recovered from what y’all did out there.”
Riven shrugged. “Should’ve bet on us.”
Otto laughed, loud and friendly, like they were old buddies.
“But I did,” he said. “Believe me. And I'm not just backing you this round — I’m putting serious money on you three.”
Set raised a brow. “How serious?”
Otto dropped his tone a notch.
“Let’s say… the kind of serious that means you better perform. Exactly like last time.”
Friendly on the surface.
Sharp underneath.
Riven caught it.
Talla definitely caught it.
Set didn't like that and he didn't pretend like he did.
“Hey.” Otto clapped Set on the shoulder. “No pressure. You three make it look easy.”
Then the room changed.
A shadow moved across the entrance.
Everyone glanced without meaning to.
He stepped inside.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Black hair cut close.
Tattooed arms disappearing under a crisp white collared shirt — unbuttoned just enough to show the Hagg cartel insignia across his chest:
a pickaxe smashing through a crown.
Dress slacks.
Loafers.
Hands empty.
He just stood there and the whole lobby got quiet.
Otto straightened instantly.
He didn’t walk to Otto.
Otto stepped to him.
A private exchange.
Too low to hear.
The man’s eyes slid past Otto and locked onto Triple Kill.
Like he was looking at merchandise that belonged to him now.
He whispered something else into Otto’s ear.
Otto looked at Triple Kill.
Then the man walked out the way he came.
Otto exhaled once, slow.
The friendly tone was entirely gone now.
He looked at Triple Kill again — this time like someone who had to deliver a message, not cash in a bet.
“…hey,” he said, voice steady but thinner than before,
“break a leg out there.”
He stuffed the Pom leaf between his lips before lighting it.
“I’ve got a pretty penny on the money line tonight.”
He didn’t smile, he just turned and walked out fast. Several men followed him.
And before Triple Kill could trade a single look—the entire arena went dead.
Lights.
Ads.
Screens.
Broadcast System.
All silent.
A blackout.
Something was happening in X'Omnera and Riven, Talla and Set didn't wait for the show to start to find out.
⟢───── Ashes × Aether ─────⟣