**Thank you for joining me on this journey. I write a new chapter daily, which is immediately released on Royal Road. I've learned much from this process and will continue to see where this goes.**

  Mackiaveli’s duel with Commander Kyle had ended almost as soon as it had begun. The Blood King’s form dissolved into a mist of shattered pixels and crimson fragments, vanishing into the ether of the arena’s battlefield reset. But Mackiaveli barely acknowledged his fallen opponent. Without a word, he turned, the flowing black of his trench coat billowing slightly as he stepped toward the edge of Platform One.

  And then, without hesitation, he sat down—cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees, head tilted downward. Still. Silent. Unshaken.

  From Dani’s vantage point in the stands—just off to the side, near the front row—she could see him clearly. The glowing energy from the platforms flickered across the sharp angles of his mask, painting him in waves of gold and shadow. He was unmoving, like a statue, like an untouchable enigma. The crowd still raged around him, the announcer still gushed over his skill, but Mackiaveli? He existed in his own space, untouched by it all.

  Dani exhaled sharply and leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist.

  Dani (Private Chat): "And why do I like this guy?"

  Next to her, Vessa didn’t hesitate.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Oh, so you do like him?"

  Dani’s back straightened immediately.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Wait—no, I didn’t say that! I meant… ugh, you know what I meant."

  Vessa smirked, her avatar shifting slightly in her seat, golden eyes glinting with amusement.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Mmhmm. That definitely sounded like some deep admiration, girl."

  Dani groaned, rubbing her temples.

  Dani (Private Chat): "That’s not what I—fine. Fine. He’s… focused. I respect that. Happy?"

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Oh totally. I’m thrilled. Just as thrilled as you are watching him brood like some VR Batman."

  Dani opened her mouth to argue, but something caught her eye. Across the arena, on Platform Three, Dexda Gunn stood with his arms crossed, his hulking presence unmistakable even from a distance.

  She frowned.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Wait… why does Dexda Gunn look familiar?"

  Vessa glanced at the platform and sighed.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Oh, Dani. Please tell me you actually recognize them."

  Dani blinked. Them? Her gaze flicked between the remaining competitors—the ones that had been eliminated and the ones still standing. Then it hit her like a misfired code sequence. Dexda Gunn. Sidewinder Buck. Dirk Welsby III. Commander Kyle.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Yeah. Those four. They’re from Welsby’s little squad. Some people call them the Null Division."

  Dani’s stomach twisted. The Null Division. That’s why Dexda had looked so familiar—he’d been one of the griefers at Zeus’s party. Her fingers clenched.

  Dani (Private Chat): "They griefed Zeus’s event."

  Vessa nodded.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Yup. And they’ve been griefing high-tier players for years. They target anyone they think is ‘too big for their code.’ And, well… now they’re up against your friends."

  Dani stole another glance at Mackiaveli, still motionless on his platform, ignoring everything but thinking to himself.

  Welsby, you’re next…

  Dani (Private Chat): "Maybe that’s why he’s acting like this. He’s not just focused—he’s holding back."

  Vessa hesitated, then nodded.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "I’ve never seen him do something like this before. Not in any tournament. He’s always fast, brutal, sharp. But now? He’s controlled. Too controlled."

  Dani exhaled.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Well. If that’s the case, then Welsby better watch out."

  A third message appeared on her HUD. A new name.

  Professor Jansen (World Chat):

  "I see you noticed his focus."

  Dani and Vessa both jumped.

  Dani (World Chat): "Professor?!"

  Vessa smirked.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "I swear, he has perfect timing."

  The professor’s avatar—his mysterious robed figure—stood at the edge of the stands, observing the platforms like an old war general watching troops on the battlefield.

  Professor Jansen (World Chat):

  "Don’t get too mad at him, Dani. He’s had a lot on his mind lately."

  Dani tilted her head.

  Dani (World Chat): "A lot on his mind?"

  Professor Jansen (World Chat):

  "That’s not my story to tell."

  A pause. Then his next message flickered onto her HUD.

  Professor Jansen (World Chat):

  "But I do have some good news. If you can make it into the Semi-Finals, then I can get you a grant to help you through the term. Will that help?"

  Dani nearly launched herself out of her seat.

  Dani (World Chat): "WAIT—WHAT?! Are you serious?!"

  She almost tried to hug him before remembering she was in her avatar. Instead, her hands trembled as she hurriedly typed out.

  Dani (World Chat): "Thank you, Professor. Thank you SO much!"

  Vessa chuckled.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "And here I thought you weren’t the excitable type."

  Dani ignored her, still reeling. This was huge. A shot at the Semi-Finals wasn’t just about the tournament anymore. It was about her future. Then, just as quickly, another realization hit her.

  Dani (World Chat): "Wait. Now I’m nervous as hell."

  Professor Jansen (World Chat): "No pressure."

  Dani (World Chat): "NO PRESSURE?! YEAH, OKAY. NO PRESSURE AT ALL!"

  The professor simply sent a laughing emote before his name flickered offline. Dani slumped back in her seat, exhaling hard. Vessa grinned.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Well. At least you’ve got extra motivation now, huh?"

  Dani buried her face in her hands.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Yeah. No pressure."

  And then—The broadcast flickered back to life. The battlefield on Platform Two was a world of shadows. Shiro's shadow clones darted in and out, their forms slipping through the darkness as they clashed with the enveloping void that Dirk Welsby III wielded. The entire platform seemed suspended in twilight, where the boundary between reality and digital nightmare blurred.

  Shiro’s form was never still. He slipped between shadows, his body phasing in and out of existence, each step leaving a ripple in the darkened air. His HUD pulsed with damage notifications, but he ignored them, his focus honed razor-sharp on the void-wielding menace before him.

  Shiro (World Chat): "You may control darkness, Welsby, but shadows dance to their own rhythm."

  At the center of the platform, Welsby stood within a maelstrom of inky blackness. His silhouette was barely discernible, only the harsh, cold light of his white eyes piercing through the void. His hands moved methodically, each gesture pulling strands of darkness into form—blades, spears, walls—constructs of absolute nothingness that consumed everything they touched.

  Welsby (World Chat): "Shadows are nothing but the children of darkness. And I am their king."

  The crowd was silent, the atmosphere thick with tension. The arena's ambient light dimmed, as if even the world outside the platform feared being swallowed by Welsby’s void. The clash between Shiro’s shadow blades and Welsby’s void constructs was a symphony of light and dark—each strike, a note in a song of survival.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Come on, Shiro. Find the angle."

  Dani (Private Chat): "He's hanging on by a pixel. He's gotta have a trick up his sleeve!"

  Welsby's codeweaving was meticulous. He wasn’t just summoning void constructs—he was reshaping the battlefield itself. His tendrils of darkness lashed out, wrapping around pillars, snuffing out light sources, creating a realm where only he could thrive. His control over the void was near perfect. It wasn’t just darkness, it was an absence, a nullification of existence.

  Shiro countered with deceptive maneuvers. His shadow clones emerged from the darkness, each one a flickering image of him. They lunged, twisted, and exploded into smoke upon impact, forcing Welsby to react to phantoms. For every attack, Shiro had a dodge. For every void construct, a shadow clone. His movements were poetry in motion—smooth, fluid, always two steps ahead.

  But exhaustion was setting in. His health bar hovered dangerously low, his stamina nearly depleted. His steps grew heavy, his clones less frequent, their forms less defined. The crowd sensed it, the collective breath of the audience held tight, waiting for the break.

  ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):

  "IS THIS THE END FOR SHIRO? OR DOES OUR SHADOW WEAVER HAVE ONE MORE TRICK UP HIS SLEEVE?"

  Shiro narrowed his eyes. His fingers danced over his HUD, inputting a rapid series of commands. The shadows beneath his feet deepened, expanding outward, swallowing the platform in a blanket of dusk. For a heartbeat, both fighters vanished. Silence. The air hung thick, anticipation crackling like static.

  Then—A dozen Shiros emerged from the dark, each moving in perfect unison. They circled Welsby, their blades drawn, their forms wreathed in shadows. The assault was instant—a whirlwind of strikes from every angle. Blades clanged against void shields, sparks of light against the infinite dark.

  Welsby’s expression never changed. His void expanded—a pulse of black that sent clones scattering. He twisted his hands, and the darkness obeyed, solidifying into chains that lashed out, capturing shadow clones and pulling them into the nothingness. One by one, they dissolved, their forms shattering into static.

  Shiro was among them, weaving through the chaos. His shadow blade cut through a void chain, his body slipping between tendrils of darkness. He was close—too close. His real blade bit into Welsby’s shoulder, the first direct hit of the match. A sliver of Welsby’s health bar chipped away. The crowd exploded.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "YES! He landed a hit!"

  Dani (Private Chat): "Let’s go, Shiro! Turn this around!"

  But the opening was brief. Welsby’s eyes flared, and his form seemed to unravel into smoke. He became the void, his silhouette merging with the darkness around him. Shiro swung at nothing, his blade cutting through air. The shadows betrayed him—where once they were allies, now they twisted, cold and empty.

  Welsby (World Chat): "You fight well, shadow dancer. But the void swallows all."

  The platform itself seemed to shift. The edges crumbled into nothingness, the floor a mosaic of darkness. Shiro stumbled, his footing unsure. His clones faltered, their forms flickering. His codeweaving was slowing, his commands met with lag as the void corrupted his scripts.

  Welsby raised his hands, and the darkness obeyed. An orb of nothingness formed—a gravity well of void energy that pulled everything toward it. Shiro’s shadows bent, his clones dragged into the vortex. He fought it, his blade anchoring him to the floor, his shadow tendrils reaching out, clawing for stability.

  But it was too late. The orb expanded—an eclipse swallowing the light. Shiro’s health bar bottomed out as the shadows he commanded dissolved into static. His form crumbled, pixel by pixel, derezzing into wisps of shadow.

  SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "WINNER—DIRK WELSBY III!"

  Welsby stood alone on the platform, his void shrinking back into his form. His white eyes were unblinking, a predator's calm after the kill. The crowd's applause was thunderous, but it felt muted against the vast silence of his power. He remained still, a monument to darkness, the king of a realm where shadows found no refuge.

  The sound of metal on metal echoed across Platform Three. Dexda Gunn unleashed an unending barrage of bullets, his earth-forged weapons materializing in his hands—rifles, pistols, miniguns—each crafted from raw rock and steel. Each shot sent shockwaves through the platform, chipping away at the stone and leaving molten craters in their wake.

  Dexda Gunn (World Chat): "Stand still, you little gnome! Take your medicine!"

  Byte was anything but still. His small, nimble form darted between cover points, his fingers dancing over his HUD as if playing an invisible piano. With every tap, massive slabs of metal rose to intercept the gunfire—walls of twisted steel and reinforced stone that splintered under the relentless assault.

  The arena filled with the cacophony of destruction—gunfire, shattering rocks, and the metallic groan of Byte’s shields buckling under pressure. Sparks flew, ricochets zipping past Byte’s head as he moved forward, step by deliberate step. Each pace was calculated, every shift of his weight timed to create a new barrier, a fresh obstacle for Dexda's onslaught.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "If he keeps throwing metal, I’m just gonna build a whole damn fortress."

  Dani (Private Chat): "Or a metal pizza oven. We can cook while you win."

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Extra crispy, please."

  Byte grinned, his avatar's expression as mischievous as ever. He was in his element—quite literally. As an Earth Wielder, Byte didn’t just control the ground beneath him; he molded it, shaped it, turned it into weapons and armor. His hands were encased in metal gauntlets, each punch a miniature earthquake.

  Dexda’s weapons clicked empty. His silhouette stood against the smoke, the faint glow of molten metal reflecting off his armor. He didn’t waste a breath. Rocks and steel swirled around him, his codeweaving swift and brutal. His new weapon—a bazooka—materialized, its barrel still glowing as if fresh from a forge.

  Dexda Gunn (World Chat): "Say hello to my little friend!"

  He fired. The projectile wasn’t just a hunk of metal—it was a seismic charge, its core a swirling mass of molten stone. The ground trembled beneath its path, a trail of molten cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

  Byte crouched, his hands pressed into the platform. His avatar’s eyes flashed, and the earth obeyed. A wall of twisted metal rose, layers upon layers of steel and stone fusing together. The projectile slammed into it, and for a moment, the world became fire and smoke. The explosion sent debris flying, hot shrapnel pinging off the energy shields surrounding the platform. When the dust settled, Byte was gone. The crowd gasped. Had the attack obliterated him?

  ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):

  "DID DEXDA JUST PULL OFF A KNOCKOUT? OR IS BYTE KNIGHT PULLING ANOTHER ONE OF HIS TRICKS?"

  Dexda straightened, a smug grin on his avatar’s face. His bazooka dissolved into pebbles, his hands already pulling raw metal from the platform, reshaping it into a new weapon—twin revolvers with barrels the size of a man’s fist. The ground rumbled. Dexda’s grin faltered.

  A massive fist of metal burst from the earth beneath him, an iron titan's hand that closed around his torso. Dexda struggled, his revolvers firing point-blank into the metal, but the bullets only sparked harmlessly against the alloy. The hand tightened, metal fingers digging into his armor, crushing his health bar by the second.

  Byte rose from the ground behind him. His avatar was covered in dirt and dust, his metal gauntlets glowing with a molten edge. He had tunneled beneath the platform, using the blast as cover to set his trap.

  Byte (World Chat): "My turn."

  He launched forward. His gauntlets met Dexda’s chest with a resounding clang, the impact sending a shockwave through the platform. Dexda’s body arced through the air, his revolvers slipping from his grasp, metal and stone scattering as his weapons disassembled mid-flight.

  Dexda crashed into the far end of the platform. Before he could move, the earth itself rose to trap him—stone tendrils wrapping around his limbs, locking him in place. His health bar flashed red, his avatar flickering with damage indicators.

  Dexda Gunn (World Chat): "You think you’ve won, pebble boy?"

  The stones around him vibrated. His codeweaving kicked into overdrive—scripts flashed across his HUD as he attempted to break free. The ground beneath Byte quaked, and spikes of metal erupted, forcing him back.

  Byte skidded, his metal gauntlets slamming into the earth. The platform shifted, jagged spears of steel thrusting up between them, creating a forest of blades. Dexda pulled one of his arms free, the stone shattering under his strength. His health bar ticked up—a regeneration script, pulling resources from the platform itself.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "He’s healing! Byte needs to finish this, fast!"

  Byte narrowed his eyes. His gauntlets retracted, the metal flowing over his arms, plating his shoulders and chest with thick armor. His fists closed, and the ground beneath him rippled. He wasn’t just defending anymore. He was ready to end it.

  Byte (World Chat): "Should’ve stayed behind your guns, Dexda."

  He slammed his fists into the ground. Metal pillars erupted, smashing through Dexda’s forest of blades. The stone tendrils reformed, coiling tighter around Dexda, their texture shifting to iron. His regeneration halted as the earth cut him off from his source. Dexda screamed, his world chat text flashing erratically. His form began to derez, his body glitching as his health bar drained to zero.

  SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "WINNER—BYTE KNIGHT!"

  Byte dusted off his hands, his avatar grinning as he flexed. He struck a pose, his metal gauntlets shimmering in the artificial light. The crowd's cheers washed over him, a digital wave of adoration. His friends lit up the private chat, their texts a stream of emojis and cheers.

  Hexa (Private Chat): "Way to crush it, Byte!"

  Shiro (Private Chat): "Never thought I’d see the day when Dexda got buried alive."

  Byte (Private Chat): "All in a day’s work, folks. Now, who’s got pizza money?"

  ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):

  "WHAT AN EPIC DISPLAY OF SKILL! CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR WINNERS—MACKIAVELI, BYTE KNIGHT, SIDEWINDER BUCK, AND DIRK WELSBY III! WE’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW FOR THE FINAL DAY OF THE FIFTH ANNUAL ANOTHER LIFE COMBAT DEVELOPER TOURNAMENT—SPONSORED BY AURACRON PRIME, HACKSOFT, MAPPLE, SOKA-COLA, T&T CANDIES, MOJITOS CHIPS, MIXVIDIA GPU SYSTEMS, AND ANDENHEISER KUSH BEER—SAVOR, THE SMOOTH FLAVOR!"

  The camera panned over the exhausted fighters, the roaring crowd, and the virtual sky filled with pixelated fireworks.

  ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):

  "GET SOME REST, STAY HYDRATED, AND WE'LL SEE YOU TOMORROW FOR THE CLIMAX OF THIS EPIC EVENT! GOOD NIGHT, EVERYONE!"

  The screen faded to black, a final spark of anticipation lingering in the air.

  This is part of a series of stories that have lived solely in my head for many years, and I’ve finally started writing them as serialized fiction books. If you think the story sucks, feel free to tell me—it’s all part of the process. That said, I’m also looking for constructive criticism, so any suggestions are welcome and will be considered as I work to improve the series.