Flying through the sea of clouds, Kassorith couldn’t help but toss the occasional glance at the amethyst badge pinned to his tunic, on the side opposite his spatial device. It was only half the size of his palm, the deep, purple gemstone cut into a pentagonal shape, the faint outline of a clawed hand carved onto its face.

The object didn’t actually have a function other than allowing him to enter the void tournament. Still, he wasn’t in a hurry to store it away. No way he would forgo the joy of displaying his trophy proudly upon his return.

‘I thought I’d be feeling better after winning the whole tournament,’ he thought to himself, sighing internally.

Becoming an elite disciple was already beyond his wildest dreams, but rising to the very top of the competition was another thing entirely. Right now, he wasn’t just a powerful mage in his sect’s eyes – he was a priceless asset!

They’d never send him on another mission in his life. Not even if he begged them to. No way they’d risk their most famous elite disciple like that. Kassorith was now more valuable training in seclusion inside the sect, hidden and protected from their enemies. He’d live the rest of his life in luxury, showered with resources and treated as a prince! In fact, the only reason he hadn’t claimed one of those slave towns from the tournament, was because he knew there were other ways to get one, given this outcome.

Had this been a few weeks ago, Kassorith would have been overjoyed. Back when Percy had saved his life, he hadn’t expected much more from the foreigner. In Kassorith’s eyes, his guest had been a nobody – just a low-born peasant from some backwater planet, lucky to possess both a rare affinity and one of the most powerful bloodlines Kassorith had ever heard of.

Bringing his soul back from the verge of death had been a welcome surprise – and one that Kassorith had been more than willing to repay with a small reward, such as the Cascading Cracks technique. It should have been enough, shouldn’t it? No way Percy’s people had ever come across anything even remotely as valuable.

But the foreigner hadn’t been satisfied with that, having the gall to demand more. And not just a cheap artifact or some Crude spell, but a leaf from the sapling – of all things. The bastard had even had the audacity to blackmail him for it.

When Percy had voiced his ridiculous demands to Syrreneth, Kassorith had felt his blood boil, thinking that the greedy alien would cost him his life. He certainly hadn’t believed that his guest had been capable of delivering on his grand promises.

Turning him into an elite disciple? Reaching the top sixteen of the tournament?

What a joke.

Had it been that easy, Kassorith would have long accomplished that by himself. What hope did Percy have – an ignorant stranger who didn’t know the first thing about Thess’kala or the Void Hand? And in a borrowed body no less?

And yet, Percy had proven him wrong, time after time.

He’d earned him those trims. He’d won the first battle in the tournament. And the second. And the third. Before Kassorith knew it, they’d made it to the second phase of the tournament, but that wasn’t even the end of it – only the beginning. No matter who stood against them, Percy kept pulling one trick after another from a seemingly bottomless bag, overcoming Thess’kala’s proudest sons and daughters without pause.

It was frightening, really.

Kassorith wasn’t very surprised by any of Percy’s individual abilities. Granted, those deceptively simple runes of his were far more potent than Thess’kala’s, so he couldn’t help but be a little curious about their origin. The foreigner’s skill at drawing the symbols in an instant – and on pretty much any medium – was also strange, as was the fact that Percy didn’t require sleep. Still, all of that had been well within Kassorith’s expectations.

With a bloodline like that, even a monkey would have grown powerful. Kassorith had no idea how many places his guest had visited before Thess’kala, but if the bastard had approached all of his previous hosts with the same insatiable appetite and shameless persistence that he’d shown toward him, it was no wonder he’d acquired so many strange abilities.

What he found most impressive wasn’t the endless assortment of tools hidden in Percy’s soul, but the sheer ingenuity with which he wielded them. No matter the situation – no matter how insurmountable his opponents had seemed – Percy had always found a way to overcome them.

He’d developed new spells in the heat of battle, systematically dismantled some of the most troublesome bloodlines and techniques Kassorith had ever faced, and strategically leveraged even the most insignificant of his assets. Percy had used everything in his power – and then some – to claw his way to the very top.

‘Is he really from a lesser spring?’ Kassorith wondered.

He didn’t think Percy had feigned his ignorance of cosmic matters. Or was he an excellent actor too, on top of everything else?

Percy had used up his soul mana to repair Kassorith’s injuries before the latter managed to examine the substance properly, but the few traces he spotted within the enchantments on his soul left him confident that Percy was merely a Yellow.

Normally, that would have been enough for Kassorith – or anyone else – to write the foreigner off. An Orange-born, or even a Red-born from a lesser spring? Thess’kala had bugs with more potential than that. If it ate enough cores, even an insect might attain divinity. But not Percy. Even if he kept amassing power for a few more centuries, the most likely scenario was that he’d eventually piss the wrong god off, bringing calamity to himself and his people.

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At least, that was what Kassorith’s logic told him.

Yet, after seeing the foreigner’s boundless resolve and determination, he couldn’t help but question those assumptions. Were there truly limits that Percy would fail to overcome?

If he really was at Yellow, he shouldn’t have lived longer than a century. Even at such a young age, he’d turned into quite a monster. What if he snuck into more greater springs in the future? Into the Void Hand’s strongholds? What if he stole from Sixiang or the Moirai? What if he found a first-generation leaf to extend his lifespan or a Focus from the wise gnomes?

‘Maybe this is a bad idea after all…’ Kassorith thought as the faint outline of the Broken Fang Sect’s pillar appeared in the distance. The looming structure jutted above the horizon like a jagged fang piercing through the cloud sea, its dark silhouette heavy with foreboding.

He’d already tried to backstab his guest once, and how had that turned out? Kassorith wanted to call his master and beg him to reconsider. But he knew better than to try and steer Syrreneth away from this madness. On top of that, he couldn’t exactly attempt to reconvene with the Violet while sharing a body with Percy. The foreigner would snuff his life in an instant if he so much as suspected the betrayal.

‘I just hope he knows what he’s doing…’

Kassorith’s situation had prevented him from discussing the plan with his master, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell the Violet would even consider handing the jade leaf to an outsider. Claiming it from the sect’s vault and displaying it during the call had been nothing but a ruse.

In theory, Percy wasn’t capable of much by himself. Despite his impressive performance in the tournament, he shouldn’t be able to accomplish anything in Kassorith’s body without his consent.

The only thing they had to watch out for was the possibility of ravaging his soul and fleeing Thess’kala. Syrreneth was many things, but he wasn’t a fool – surely, he’d taken precautions for that. Even though he knew the truth about Kassorith, the rest of their people didn’t, so the Violet wouldn’t risk losing his prized asset. No matter how Kassorith sliced it, reason told him that they had everything under control. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something could go wrong.

‘Say, what are we going to do about that ticket of yours?’ Percy suddenly asked, startling him.

Kassorith forced himself to calm down before replying, not wanting to alert the foreigner right before the inevitable ambush.

‘What the fuck do you want us to do? Split it in half?’ he asked, struggling to emulate his usual snark.

Percy chuckled. ‘As pretty as it looks, a broken ticket would be useless to me. Even if I had the whole thing, it’s not like I can just waltz into the void tournament and ask them to let me join. Just pay me half its value and we’ll call it even. We’ve had a wonderful collaboration so far – no reason to sour it on our last day together.’

Kassorith rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll give you one of my spare ritual ingredients.’

‘One?’ Percy asked, a pang of sardonic laughter ringing through their connection. ‘How about the full set? Didn’t you say the ticket is more valuable than the other prizes?’

‘It’s definitely not twice as valuable,’ Kassorith spat, before sighing. ‘Look, there’s no way I’m giving you the Heartblood, but you can have the two secondary ingredients if you want.’

‘Screw that! You know damn well they’re useless to me on their own. I’ll take the Heartblood and the Abyssal Moss. You can keep the toxins. Trade them away or something.’

‘Fine. You can have the Heartblood on its own, but I’ll be keeping the rest,’ Kassorith partially conceded. His guest was about to protest, but Kassorith stopped him. ‘Let’s discuss this later. I’m way too tired to haggle with you right now.’

Truth be told, Kassorith just wanted to get Percy off his back, having no intention of sharing anything more with him. In fact, if he knew Syrreneth well – which he did – Percy wouldn’t be leaving Thess’kala at all. The elder would no doubt make him spill out all of his runecrafting knowledge, empty that fancy spatial device hidden in his soul, and then destroy his wisp entirely. The bastard could forget about everything – the leaf, the ritual ingredients, the affinity-changing treasure, the cleansing technique. Even his damn memories of this place.

‘If he wanted to keep any of his gains, he should have run away while he still had the chance…’ Kassorith thought.

Neither spoke as they finally landed in the narrow tunnel leading to Syrreneth’s cavern. Tossing his latest greatsword down the cliff, Kassorith rushed through the rune-lit corridor, eager to get this over with and reclaim his freedom.

Soon, they entered the Violet’s chamber, finding Syrreneth in the exact same position they’d left him. He was sitting atop his coiled tail in the middle of the room, the sapling’s vibrant leaf resting atop the same crimson cushion from a few days earlier. Noticing their arrival, the elder opened his eyes, his slit pupils scanning them leisurely.

“Well, well… if it isn’t our sect’s resident champion. I’ve waited patiently for your return,” he said, his frigid voice sending a chill down Kassorith’s spine.

“Move away from the cushion,” Percy snapped through Kassorith’s mouth, skipping the small talk entirely. “And don’t even think of trying anything clever.”

“Or what?” Syrreneth’s tone dripped even colder.

A faint slither echoed. Percy turned Kassorith’s head, spotting a shadowed figure emerging from the thick mist – one that they hadn’t noticed before. Using their shared Mana Sense, they soon detected the newcomer’s Blue core.

“So this is how it is?” Percy asked. “After everything I’ve done for you and your sect, are you really going to risk your disciple’s life for more?”

The elder shrugged. “This isn’t about what you’ve already given me. It’s about what else I can take. Why settle for some, when I can have it all? Besides… I’m not risking anything.”

Syrreneth’s voice barely fell, when the Blue standing next to him raised his hand. A new layer of previously hidden runes lit up along the walls, floor and ceiling of the cavern. Unlike the colourful enchantments that normally pulsated rhythmically around the chamber, these sported a faint silver colour. It was obvious they’d been added recently too.

Kassorith didn’t even give Percy a chance to react. Severing their connection, he instantly rejected his guest’s very presence, trying to shove the tiny wisp out of his soul.

The foreigner deactivated all of the enchantments aiding Kassorith’s recovery – much like he’d done the last time – manifesting a series of spectral claws to violently latch on. It was among the most painful things Kassorith had ever experienced, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled to relive it. Especially since he understood that a swift death awaited him if this continued.

However, he wasn’t as worried.

The Blue by his master’s side was naturally a soul user, and he wasn’t here just to block Percy’s escape routes. He was also a healer – most likely – brought by his master to patch Kassorith up as soon as they got rid of the foreigner.

‘Are you sure you want to do this, Kassorith?’ Percy asked, his voice sounding muffled through their broken connection. ‘I’m not going to give you a third chance.’

Kassorith swallowed hard, Percy’s calm voice giving him a bad premonition. But he knew it was way too late for regrets.

‘Just shut up and die already!’