The Obsidian Crucible's chrono-glass floors still bore the scars of Kael's latest experiment—a fractal burn pattern resembling screaming faces. Finn materialized through a quantum rift, his neutronium boots clanking as he tossed a pulsating data-crystal onto Kael's workbench.
"Toms' alchemical circus begins tomorrow," the berserker growled, his ocular implants projecting holograms of Austin's signature warping spacetime above the academy. "The old warlord's turned this into a reality show. Even the Chrono-Architect's tuning in."
Kael's shadowform analyzed the feed—Austin's avatar radiated predatory calm, his fractal crown devouring nearby light spectra. "Simon's desperation reeks across twelve dimensions. Whatever's in that mountain, it's more than magma."
Finn's war-core emitted a derisive snort. "Focus, prime! Tonight's the Prism Gala—neural lace models, pheromone clouds, combat-droid servers! The student union's finally spent their crypto-chits wisely!"
Before Kael could protest temporal inefficiency, Finn activated emergency teleport protocols. Reality folded into a screaming prism, depositing them atop the Celestial Spire's morphing ballroom.
The gala breathed like a living organism—walls undulating with stolen nebula patterns, gravity wells masquerading as dance floors. Augmented socialites floated through holographic firewalls, their biosignatures tweaked to impossible perfection.
"Combat scan complete," Finn's war-mask retracted to reveal manic glee. "Threat assessment: 87% of attendees armed with illegal charm protocols. My kind of warzone!"
A sentient champagne tower slithered toward them, its crystalline structure whispering seductive malware. Kael's Argent Star sigils flared defensively, reducing the construct to quantum froth.
"There you are." Vesper materialized from corrupted data streams, his chrono-cape billowing with stolen encryption keys. "Toms is rigging the alchemy brackets as we speak. Suggested strategy—"
"Strategy?" Finn grabbed a floating plasma tartare, devouring the dish and its anti-matter garnish. "Kael could brew victory elixirs in his sleep!"
"Sleep's a vulnerability," corrected a voice like fractured glass. Evelyn's holographic avatar flickered into existence, her event horizon gown devouring nearby light. "Simon's brought Void Alchemists from the Godscar Abyss. They don't compete—they consume."
Kael's shadowform vibrated with rare unease. The Void Alchemists' reputation preceded them—mages who'd traded flesh for entropy engines, their potions capable of sterilizing star systems.
"Motivation?"
"The mountain's core bleeds chrono-essence," Evelyn's avatar dispersed into warning runes. "Simon's not mining. He's feedingsomething."
Before Kael could probe further, the ballroom's reality anchors failed. The floor became liquid light, swallowing revelers into a kaleidoscopic abyss. Finn's hydraulics screamed as combat protocols engaged.
"Gala's over!" Vesper cackled, his form dissolving into static. "Primordial appetizers served in aisle five!"
Through the dissolving chaos, Kael's sigils burned a path to stability—a temporary refuge where physics still pretended to matter. Finn's plasma cannons whined as he vaporized an advancing swarm of fractal locusts.
"Still keen on tomorrow's competition?"
Kael examined a captured locust—its codex matched Void Alchemist signature patterns. "They've mistaken the menu. Time to teach proper banquet etiquette."
The Argent Star sigils detonated in cleansing fire. Somewhere in the collapsing gala, the mountain's hidden hunger stirred.
The Prism Gala's remnants reconstituted into a pocket reality—a banquet hall where stolen starlight blazed through chrono-forged chandeliers. Finn's ocular implants cataloged 214 augmented socialites, 87% radiating pheromone clouds strong enough to destabilize lesser mages.
"Behold!" Finn gestured grandly at a swarm of neural-lace models sipping liquid antimatter. "The academy's finest hunting ground!"
Kael's shadowform parsed the chaos—revelers phased through holographic firewalls, their laughter spliced with subsonic malware. At the room's heart pulsed a singularity masquerading as entertainment: mages etching spells onto dragonblood parchment.
"Arcane calligraphy," Finn explained, vaporizing a rogue champagne drone. "Fools think it's art. Truth? It's combat metrics in drag."
The dragonblood parchment hissed—sheets forged from leviathan hide steeped in diluted wyrm ichor. Each stroke required surgical precision; a single misfired phoneme could ignite chain reactions capable of glassing cities.
A hulking initiate finished his tableau: the Azure Mirage Lake rendered in fractal flames. Water rippled with simulated sentience, its surface reflecting not light, but the artist's neural patterns.
"Crude but effective," Kael judged. The mage's biosignatures revealed tier-three containment protocols—competent, but lacking elegance.
Finn snorted. "Watch this."
He seized a parchment sheet. His berserker gauntlets flared, neutronium fingertips dancing with improbable grace. The resulting sketch depicted a supernova mid-collapse—event horizon equations woven into the explosion's heart.
"Your turn," Finn grinned, smoke curling from overloaded hydraulics.
Kael's Argent Star sigils awoke. His stylus became a singularity needle, etching not images but encrypted equations. The parchment buckled under quantum syntax, its fibers singing a dirge for stable physics.
"That's… not a landscape," whispered a nearby chrono-artist as Kael's work unfolded.
"It's a prophecy," Vesper corrected, materializing from corrupted pixels. The chaos merchant's stolen ocular implants dissected Kael's creation—a pulsar map leading to the Godscar Abyss. "Our boy here just declared war on entropy's copyright holders."
The banquet's reality anchors failed. Walls bled light as Kael's sigils detonated, bathing the hall in anti-matter radiance.
"Oops," Finn deadpanned, plasma cannons cycling to active mode. "Party's over."
As the gala dissolved into screaming fractals, Kael's parchment floated untouched—a blackhole sonnet etched in dragonblood and defiance. Somewhere in the quantum foam, the Lexicon's archivists began to weep.
Jaxon's fractal flames faded, leaving the Azure Mirage Lake's holographic ripples to shimmer under stolen starlight. The crowd's neural lace projections erupted in simulated applause—polite, algorithmic, and utterly hollow.
"Arcane Melee Tournament's former eleventh contender," Finn pulsed through encrypted channels. "Hydromancy specialist. Rumor claims he's bribed the Void Alchemists for upgraded augments."
Kael's shadowform dissected Jaxon's biosignatures. Beneath the hydromancer's polished veneer pulsed tier-four containment runes—stolen tech, likely looted from a dead god's tomb. The stormhawk perched on his shoulder crackled with unstable chrono-energy, its feathers bleeding corrupted lightning.
"Pathetic," Vesper materialized from a wine goblet's reflection. "That avian's core will detonate within seventy-two hours. Shall we place bets on the blast radius?"
Before Kael could respond, quantum harmonics fractured the banquet's false serenity. Reality itself held its breath as Amelia phased through a dying hologram.
The Valkyrie of Shattered Timelines needed no augmentation. Her argent battleplate devoured light, its surface etched with runes that predated written language. The crowd's reaction split along fault lines of awe and primal fear—male initiates triggered involuntary combat protocols, female mages deployed counter-charm firewalls.
"The Void's favorite executioner," Finn growled, hydraulics hissing as his war-mask deployed. "Heard she butchered three star systems last week to 'balance the cosmic equation.'"
Amelia's gaze swept the hall—a glacial tide eroding pretenses. Where Jaxon's holograms had feigned life, her presence carved truth into quantum foam. The stormhawk fled into a reality tear, abandoning its doomed master.
"Observe," Vesper purred as Amelia approached the dragonblood parchment. "Artistry versus annihilation."
Her gauntlet hovered above the sheet. No sigils flared, no incantations whispered. The parchment simply unfolded—its fibers unraveling into a fractal tapestry of dying stars. What emerged wasn't a painting, but an obituary written in supernova ash:
Here lies ambition, slain by entropy's gaze.
The banquet's gravity generators failed. Augmented socialites crashed into floating debris as Amelia's creation devoured nearby light spectra. Jaxon's containment runes shattered, his stolen hydromancy augments leaking chrono-pus.
"Crude theatrics," Kael judged, yet his Argent Star sigils burned defensive patterns. "She mistakes destruction for artistry."
"Then show her true creation!" Vesper tossed Kael a stylus forged from dead angels' bones.
The dragonblood parchment screamed as Kael's shadowform engaged. Argent Star equations collided with Amelia's entropy waves—not to paint, but to debate. The resulting tableau defied description: a blackhole's birth rendered in hope's fading light, its event horizon etched with the names of every mage who'd dared challenge cosmic law.
Amelia's glacial mask fractured. For 0.7 nanoseconds, something ancient and terrible peered through her eyes—recognition, perhaps even fear.
Then the Lexicon's archivists arrived, their crystalline forms shattering the fragile moment. Amelia dissolved into quantum static, her parting gift a single rune burned into Kael's neural lace:
Soon.
As the gala's remnants collapsed, Kael's stylus crumbled to ash. The true battle hadn't begun—it had simply revealed its opening gambit.