Chapter 110
On the Day of the Event
The three of them—Moon, Kai, and James—had been given precise coordinates on a map, not even a landmark—just a plain slip of information, almost like a casual reminder. Yet all three understood what it meant: today marked the threshold.
Moon arrived first, his figure wrapped in a sleek black coat, the fabric catching faint traces of morning light. His polished shoes tapped crisply against the stone, sharp, unyielding, much like his presence. His hair was brushed back with care, but there was an edge in his eyes, restless and searching, as though he could feel the gravity of what was about to unfold.
Kai appeared beside him moments later, and where Moon was shadow, Kai was light. He wore a cream-white shirt and pants, the fabric fitted but flowing, with shoes to match. A long overcoat, snow-pale, draped elegantly over his shoulders, each fold whispering refinement. The attire wasn't his choice—it was Minji's. She had placed it in his hands with that quiet certainty she carried, and Kai hadn't refused. Against the bleakness of the waiting site, he looked almost ethereal, as if he had walked out of some higher realm.
And then there was James. Unconcerned, unhurried, he stepped into place with his usual ease. His attire was a curious mixture: a tuxedo-like coat, the fabric cut in tones of yellow and brown that blended into something strangely commanding. Not quite formal, not entirely relaxed, but balanced—like him. If Moon and Kai looked like extremes, James was the bridge between, neither gaudy nor austere, but grounded.
The three stood silently for a time, their gazes set on the lone structure before them: a slender metallic pillar embedded in the ground, unassuming yet humming faintly with dormant power.
James was the one to move. He crouched, tapped a sequence across the teleporter surface, and the teleporter responded. At first, it was subtle: a pulse, like a heartbeat awakening after too long a rest. Then came the glow—thin veins of red light crawling outward, spreading across the teleporter until it shone as though it were lit from within. The air trembled, the ground hummed, and then with a low thrum the teleporter came alive.
The glow intensified until it painted their faces crimson. A wave of energy rolled outward, brushing against their skin with the faintest sting, as though reality itself had thinned.
The air hissed, the teleporter's light coiling inward as though demanding passage. One by one, they stepped inside.
The transition was instantaneous.
One moment, they were surrounded by light; the next, silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.
They emerged into a world stripped of life. The planet stretched endlessly around them, barren and colorless. The ground was fractured stone, cracked like parched earth yet devoid of dust. The sky—or what should have been the sky—was a void of gray, featureless, suffused with a dim, lifeless glow. No trees. No rivers. Not even air they could feel on their skin. It was as though existence itself had been bled from the land, leaving only husks of rock and faint reflections of something long dead.
Moon turned slowly, his black coat swaying against the stillness. His voice was low, almost reverent, but edged with unease. "Where the hell are we? This place doesn't even feel alive. Like… nothing's supposed to exist here."
Kai's reply was steady, almost too calm. "That's the point. It's supposed to be lifeless. No atmosphere, no tracking, no witnesses."
Moon frowned, lifting his gaze to the pale horizon. "But why go through all this trouble just to pick us up? A hidden teleporter on a dead planet—it feels excessive. They could've met us anywhere."
James's steps crunched softly against the brittle stone as he moved forward. He raised his hand and pointed into the distance. There, waiting like a beast in hibernation, was a spaceship. Its silver hull caught the faint light, vast and angular, its design sharp enough to look predatory. It wasn't as massive as Sam's ship had been, but it loomed large—easily capable of carrying hundreds.
"Excessive?" James finally looked back at them, his expression unreadable. "Not really. It's necessity. The government doesn't take chances anymore. Too many times in the past, organizations from the underworld tried sneaking assassins into events. Some disguised themselves as hunters. Some even slaughtered entire groups before anyone realized. Now, every entrant gets funneled through places like this—dead planets, untraceable coordinates. No exceptions."
Moon followed him, his brows furrowed. His boots struck the ground softly, each step echoing faintly in the hollow air.
As they neared the ship, a faint shimmer arched before the boarding ramp—a barrier of translucent light, humming with enchantments. Without hesitation, James stepped through. Kai followed, unflinching.
Moon lingered for half a heartbeat, then crossed.
The instant he passed the barrier, his chest tightened. A weight pressed inward, as though invisible chains had wound around his core. His lungs worked fine, his limbs obeyed, but his very essence—his energy—was being crushed, bound.
He staggered slightly, catching himself. His eyes snapped to James. "That barrier… we passed through just now—I felt it. Like something pressing down on my chest. Heavy. Restrictive. What was that?"
James's reply came as easily as a sigh. "Essence lock." He said it as though it were the most ordinary thing in the universe. "The moment you crossed, your body's energy was sealed. Temporary rings bind it, weaving around your core. You can still move, still breathe, still fight in the most basic sense. But your real strength? Gone."
Moon's eyes narrowed. "And if I tried to force it back? To break through?"
"Then alarms would scream before you finished drawing breath," James said flatly. He lifted a hand in a faint shrug. "And the government would erase you. No questions. No delay. One moment you exist, the next you're ash. That's the cost of playing games here."
Moon exhaled, the weight of the answer heavier than the lock itself. "So they don't trust anyone."
Kai finally spoke, his voice quieter but firm. "Would you? Think about what's at stake. This event—it's not just a competition. It's the foundation for humanity's future. If enemy races sabotage it, the next generation collapses before it begins. Assassinations, infiltration, manipulation—it's all been tried. The only way forward is absolute control. Every entrant is treated the same: stripped, sealed, tested."
Moon glanced between them, his jaw tight. "Enemy races… the Ashura, right? But you mentioned before… dragons."
James's gaze drifted to the metal walls of the ship as they entered. His tone was level, but his eyes carried a shadow. "Yes. War with Ashura. Cold war with dragons. Neither side makes the first move, but both , building up talent wherever it can. Events like this—where future hunters are forged—are prime targets. That's why they drag us through barren planets, through barriers, through essence locks. Because if even one enemy slipped through? The cost would be catastrophic."
Moon let the silence hang between them, feeling the truth of it settle like lead. His black coat shifted as he walked, his footsteps echoing in the metallic corridor. For the first time, he understood that what lay ahead wasn't just spectacle—it was war, disguised as a game.
Moon shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "And you two act like it's normal."
"Because it is," James replied, striding up the boarding ramp of the ship. His indifference carried the weight of repetition—he had done this before.
The ship lifted, tearing through the fabric of space. Within an hour, they were elsewhere—far across the multiverse.
Moon leaned closer to the ship's reinforced glass, his breath fogging faintly against the pane. His eyes widened at the sight beyond.
"This isn't… a planet," he whispered.
And he was right. Suspended in the endless ocean of black was something : a colossal structure floating in the void. At first glance, it resembled a fortress, vast and angular, yet softened by sweeping arcs of architecture that suggested elegance rather than brute force. Lights traced its surface in patterns like constellations, blinking with rhythmic precision. It wasn't a ship, though it had docking ports large enough to swallow fleets. And it wasn't a world, though its sheer mass cast shadows like one.
It was something in between.
A space hotel.
Hanging in the abyss like an ornament.
Kai stood beside him, arms folded, his pale coat reflecting the faint glow of the lights outside. His voice was quiet, reverent almost. "Owned by the human government. Neutral ground. No clan, no family can interfere here. Whatever happens inside, no external hand can tip the scales. Not without risking war."
James answered from behind, his tone flat, as if he were describing the weather. "Not just events. Negotiations. Trials. Summits. Places where power converges, where trust is too fragile to risk planetside politics. A floating neutral ground—close enough to govern, far enough to control."
Before Moon could ask more, the ship hissed to a halt and its docking clamps locked into place. The ramp descended with mechanical precision.
They disembarked in silence. The floor beneath their boots gleamed like obsidian glass, each step echoing faintly into the vast docking bay. Soldiers and guards moved in disciplined formations, their faces obscured by polished visors, weapons held at ceremonial rest but ready at a heartbeat's notice.
One stepped forward. His armor was marked with the insignia of the central government. His voice carried the weight of authority, clipped and official.
"You will be quarantined for twenty-four hours in isolated rooms. Observation protocol. Security reasons."
Moon blinked, his brows pulling together. "Observation? For what?"
The guard didn't flinch, didn't waver. His voice was steel. "To assess your nature. To ensure you are who you claim to be. For your safety, and for ours."
Moon turned, his gaze flicking toward James and Kai. He expected resistance. Complaints. But James only raised a brow, lips quirking in faint amusement. His eyes seemed to say same routine as always. Kai gave the smallest shrug, calm as still water.
Moon sighed, exhaling the question he hadn't spoken aloud: Why is everyone so comfortable with this?
And so the three were separated.
Moon's chamber was pristine, almost unnervingly so. The walls were white, but not sterile—designed with subtle curves, as though the room itself was sculpted from polished bone. A bed sat against the far wall, plush enough to sink into, its sheets crisp and folded with military precision. A screen dominated the opposite wall, flickering with thousands of channels—news, dramas, comedies, even live feeds of sports and battles broadcast from across the multiverse.
The table was already set with trays of food. Not rations, but meals: steaming plates of spiced meats, bowls of rice and bread, even delicacies he couldn't name. A faint, pleasant aroma lingered in the air, tailored to make the space feel more like a retreat than a cage.
And yet, the silence was heavy.
Moon dropped onto the bed, running his hand across the fabric. It was comfortable, yes. But comfort with chains was still confinement.
He let Kuro curl against his side. The creature's warmth grounded him, its quiet purr filling the empty space. Moon tried the screen, flipping through shows he barely paid attention to, eating when hunger struck, though the food never tasted quite real. Too polished. Too prepared. He couldn't shake the awareness that every bite, every movement, every idle glance was being recorded.
Somewhere behind the walls, someone was watching. Measuring. Judging.
James, in his chamber, behaved with practiced indifference. He ignored the feast, barely touched the screen. Instead, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into sleep . If cameras watched, he didn't care. If notes were being taken, he didn't care. His breathing was steady, untroubled, as though the entire world could fall apart and he would still find rest.
It was not ignorance. It was experience.
Kai, meanwhile, explored. He sampled the food with Snow by his side, testing every flavor as though cataloguing them. He flicked through the games, the shows, even the puzzles embedded into the wall. Where Moon grew restless under invisible eyes, Kai leaned into it, as though proving that observation changed nothing. If they wanted to see his habits, he would show them in full—unbothered, unafraid.
Yet even his calm mask faltered, occasionally. Every now and then, his eyes darted to the corners of the ceiling, where tiny seams suggested hidden lenses. His hand would brush Snow's fur, grounding himself, before he carried on.
Hours passed. Twenty-three in total. The monotony was broken only by the soft chime of a notification that echoed through each chamber.
A voice followed, mechanical yet courteous:
> "Surveillance will now end. All cameras shutting down. You may change into formal attire and prepare for the event."
Each in their isolated chambers, they heard the announcement that surveillance had ended—yet none trusted it. All three burned an amount of essence, cloaking their bodies in a hazy radiance. If hidden eyes still watched, they would see only blurred silhouettes as the three changed into their formal attire.
To be continued…