Alex Thorne stared at the glowing screen in disbelief, the arena chat exploding with spam emotes. His Hog Rider had just reached the tower, two more hits for the win—when the dreaded red banner flashed across his phone: Connection Lost.
"No. No no no NO!" He slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to rattle his energy drink cans.
The live stream chat scrolled mercilessly:
"LMAO disconnect king"
"Top 200...yea lol"
"Classic Alex choke"
" Credit card deck vs Credit card deck btw "
He was in the finals of a major Clash Royale qualifier, $5,000 on the line, top 200 global ladder, and the game decided to yeet him at the worst possible moment. Again.
Alex yanked off his headset and stood up, pacing his dimly lit bedroom. Posters of old CRL champions stared down at him like disappointed parents.
"Stupid servers. Stupid Wi-Fi. Stupid—"
Rain hammered the window. He grabbed his keys. "Screw this. I need air."
The drive was a blur of rage and self-loathing.
He replayed the match in his head: perfect cycle, predicted the Log, had Ice Spirit ready for the Musketeer… and then nothing. Gone. Years of grinding ladder, memorizing every meta shift, mastering 2.6 Hog, Evo Knight bridges, Royal Recruits walls—wasted because some router halfway across the planet hiccupped.
Headlights flashed in the rearview. He didn't see the truck hydroplane until it was too late.
Impact. Darkness. Ahh-fuck...
Then light.
A roaring crowd assaulted his ears first, thousands of voices jeering, laughing, chanting something rhythmic and cruel.
Alex's eyes snapped open.
He was standing, no, swaying—on a raised stone platform inside a massive circular coliseum. Torches flickered along the walls. Banners of snarling beasts hung overhead.
The air smelled of sweat, smoke, and wet dirt.
His hands were wrong. Smaller. Paler. A fancy embroidered sleeve ended in delicate fingers clutching… glowing cards?
Eight translucent cards hovered in front of him, each etched with runes and images of warriors. Aether, his brain supplied instinctively. The word felt alien and familiar at the same time.
Across the arena, another platform. A smug-looking teenager in expensive silks smirked at him, his own cards glowing brighter, healthier.
The crowd chanted louder: "VOSS TRASH! VOSS TRASH!"
Alex blinked. Wait. I'm… inside the game? No. This is—
A booming voice echoed from magical amplifiers: "Lower Gremlin Pits Duel! Baronet Harlan Cole versus Elias Voss! Three-minute battle! Destroy the Crown Towers or claim three crowns!"
The giant timer above the arena clicked to 2:45.
Alex's vision swam. Memories that weren't his flooded in: Elias Voss, seventeen, third son of a declining noble house. Known across the kingdom as the worst summoner in three generations. Lost every public duel since age twelve. Family embarrassment. Favorite target of arena hecklers.
And right now, Elias...he—was already mid-match. Down one Crown Tower. Aether at 4. Opponent at 8.
The enemy smirked and dropped a massive moss-covered Stone Brute behind his King Tower, the hulking figure lumbering forward with earth-shaking steps, supporting nimble javelin-hurling Spear Throwers raining sharp projectiles from afar.
Alex felt Elias's panic surge, but his own mind clamped down hard. Breathe. Assess.
Then it hit him like a perfect prediction—the layout, the elixir, no aether bar ticking up, the towers, the three-minute timer, the card costs, the troop behaviors… everything mirrored the game he'd mastered for years.
This world didn't just look like it. It played exactly like it.
Holy hell. The meta works here. All of it.
He glanced at his deck. Pathetic starter cards, fuck...all underleveled. No win condition. No hard removal yet. Classic low-arena trash.
But trash could still win with perfect play.
Aether ticked to 5.
Alex's lips curled into a grin that didn't belong to Elias's timid face. "Alright, Harlan, you silk-wearing wallet warrior. Let's dance."
He dropped Ward Post in the center to pull the brute. The sturdy animated siege tower materialized with a deep wooden groan, ballista swiveling to target the lumbering giant.
Harlan laughed audibly. "Still using that peasant defense? Pathetic."
Alex ignored him. Aether to 2. He waited. Predicted.
Harlan added more Spear Throwers behind the brute. Classic noob overcommit.
Alex: "Predictable."
He played Shieldbearer in front of the Ward Post. A grizzled, battle-scarred armored warrior in dented plate appeared, heavy shield raised high.
A gravelly voice rumbled in Alex's mind alone: "At your service, young lord… though you reek of desperation."
Alex snorted. "Yeah, yeah, save the commentary, grandpa."
The Shieldbearer blocked the brute's massive club, sparks flying. Ward Post thunked iron bolts into thick stone knees.
Harlan's smirk faltered. He dropped a Flame Burst to clear the defense.
Alex had been waiting for it.
He cycled Gust Burst the instant the spell left Harlan's hand—cheap reset, crackling lightning stunning the Spear Throwers mid-throw, giving +2 Aether advantage.
The crowd hushed slightly. A few confused murmurs.
Alex trash-talked on instinct, voice carrying across the arena thanks to magic. "Big spell for tiny brain. Nice trade, champ. Really flexed those family jewels there."
Laughter rippled through the stands—at Harlan this time.
Harlan flushed red. "Shut up, Voss trash!"
Aether advantage: Elias+3. Timer: 1:50.
He punished immediately. Dropped Gremlin Horde at the bridge. Six manic, sharp-toothed little green psychopaths sprinted forward, stabbing wildly and giggling.
One gremlin glanced back at Alex mid-run, sharp teeth flashing. "Big boss finally awake? We stab for shiny later?"
Alex nearly choked. The goblin talk? Holy—focus.
Harlan panicked, dropping his own Scatter Shot: a sworm of arrows . Gremlins exploded in green mist—four dead, two survived to chip the tower for 200 damage.
Alex: "Oof. Four-for-two trade. Math not your strong suit, huh?"
The crowd was warming up now—some actually cheering the comeback.
Aether even. Alex cycled fast: Spear Throwers in the back for chip, three wiry, quick-draw javelin tossers, then another Shieldbearer to tank.
Harlan rebuilt with another brute push, angrier this time.
Alex defended flawlessly: Ward Post pull, Shieldbearer tank, then the star—Ravager on the exposed support.
The masked, purple-glowing berserker materialized with a bloodcurdling roar, dual axes spinning like deadly helicopters. He charged straight into the Spear Throwers, pancaking them in three brutal swings.
The Ravager's voice growled in Alex's head: "More blood… always more…"
Alex muttered, "Easy there, psycho. Save some for the tower."
Harlan's Brute Stone reached the Ward Post and smashed it to splinters. But the Ravager was already free, leaping onto the giant's back, axes burying deep into stone flesh.
The brute toppled with a thunderous crash.
Crowd: "OOOOOH!"
Alex: "That's what happens when you overcommit, buddy. Rookie mistake."
Timer: 1:00. Double Aether phase.
Both sides at 10 Aether.
Harlan went all-in—third Brute + everything he had.
Alex grinned wide. Now we cook.
He dropped Shieldbearer + Spear Throwers at the bridge opposite lane—split pressure. Harlan ignored it to defend his push.
Alex: "Greedy, greedy."
He saved Aether for the perfect moment. Harlan's troops clumped beautifully.
Flame Burst dropped right on the stack. Blazing phoenix flames erupted in a beautiful orange dome. Troops vaporized.
The brief silhouette of a burning bird flickered in the smoke, whispering faintly: "Burn… rebirth approaches…"
Harlan's side of the arena was empty.
Alex's surviving Gremlin Horde and Ravager swarmed the exposed tower.
Harlan screamed, "NO!"
The Ravager leapt onto the Crown Tower, axes hacking stone. Gremlins stabbed at the base.
Tower health plummeted.
10%… 5%… 0.
Crown Taken! Victory to Elias Voss!
The arena fell silent for a split second—then erupted. Half cheers, half stunned boos.
Alex stood panting, hands on knees. The cards dimmed and returned to his palm.
The Shieldbearer's voice echoed one last time: "Well fought… for a boy who was asleep half the battle."
The Ravager just growled approvingly.
A golden chest materialized at his feet—reward for the win. Inside, among common scrolls and gold, a new card gleamed: Boar Vanguard. A massive iron-tusked armored war boar snorted aggressively, fierce tribal rider raising a heavy hammer.
Alex stared at it, then at the roaring crowd, then at his own trembling hands.
He started laughing—low at first, then loud and unhinged.
"Top 200 ladder," he said to no one, voice echoing across the suddenly quiet arena. "And I just clutched a 1v1 with starter trash against a pay-to-win noob."
He looked straight at Harlan, who was being dragged away red-faced by guards.
"Hey Harlan!" Alex called, cupping hands around mouth. "Tell your daddy his gold bought you a nice participation trophy today!
The crowd lost it—full roaring laughter now.
Alex wiped tears from his eyes. Elias's weak body felt like it might collapse, but his mind was electric.
This wasn't a dream. This was real.
And he was going to climb.
All the way to the top.
Because if there was one thing Alex Thorne knew how to do—it was win.