Cole got the coordinates Senna had sent. They led him to the public entrance of the Storm City Colosseum, a massive, brutalist structure of concrete and steel that dominated the skyline.The building looked like it had been punched up from the earth by an angry god. She had rented out some time in the stadium, a place used within the city for televised battle royales. In a few nights, it would be filled with roaring fans chanting for blood, but on days like this, they opened it up to allow people to train for a hefty fee.

  The sign at the entrance read "TODAY'S RATE: 250 CREDITS/HOUR - MEDICAL INSURANCE NOT INCLUDED."

  Below it, a smaller sign flickered: "BODY REMOVAL: 50 CREDITS EXTRA. CYBERNETIC SALVAGE RIGHTS NEGOTIABLE."

  Cole snorted. Stay classy, Storm City. The whole place was a monument to Storm City's philosophy: chaos, but monetized. It was a brutal work of art, with massive shield generators bolted to the sides to protect the fans and a sand-covered arena with a bloody reputation that was a direct callback to the Colosseum of ancient Rome. Except the Romans probably didn't charge extra for corpse disposal.

  Cole found Iris standing alone in the center of the vast, empty arena. The quiet was unnerving, a stark contrast to the imagined roar of a phantom crowd. His footsteps echoed in the space, each one seeming to multiply until it sounded like an army approaching.

  The floor wasn't natural. It was a layer of synthetic granules coated in bio-reactive enzymes. It was designed to metabolize organic spill on contact. Blood and tissue didn't stain this floor. They were digested. It kept the bio-hazard ratings low while preserving the primitive aesthetic. The automated scrubbers were dormant in the rafters, waiting for the cycle reset to wipe the memory of the day's violence.

  She had her back to him, standing completely still, her posture so precise she'd probably calculated the exact optimal angle for her spine, and then he saw her weapon.

  On her back was a massive red greatsword. The thing was as tall as she was, a slab of crimson metal that looked like it should weigh a ton. The blade was a shimmering alloy with glowing geometric patterns etched into the surface that shifted and pulsed in a slow, mathematical rhythm. The patterns were active equations, constantly solving and resolving, optimizing the blade's molecular structure as he watched. Cole could actually see the math happening: tiny adjustments in the metallic lattice, cracks fixing themselves before they could spread, and the edge staying perfectly sharp by redistributing metal at the atomic level.

  Gods. Even her sword was doing homework.

  "You must be Iris," Cole called out, stopping a safe distance away.

  She didn't turn immediately, letting him know she'd been aware of his approach the entire time.

  "I really didn't expect that to be your weapon of choice," Cole said, his voice echoing in the empty stadium. "It seems... impractical. I had you pegged for something more, I don't know, cerebral? Like a neural disruptor or one of those probability knives that exist in multiple states until observed."

  "Impractical?" Iris turned, and Cole got his first proper look at her. She had a duelist's build, lean and athletic, with the kind of corded muscles you got from a lifetime of economy of motion. Her hair was stark white, cut in this severe, asymmetrical bob that looked sharp enough to cut you. A single, perfectly straight scar split her left eyebrow, proof of an attack she'd almost but not quite dodged. Her irises were a pale, icy blue, and her pupils were perfect, shimmering hexagons. Because of course they were. Normal pupils were probably inefficient or something.

  Her Pattern tattoos were glowing bright, already running combat calculations. The tattoos were living mathematics, equations that crawled across her skin like digital insects, solving problems faster than any quantum computer. "Your assumption is based on incomplete data. Ranged weapons are easily deflected or can have their trajectories inverted. I once saw a sniper shoot himself in the back of the head because a Pattern beast reversed causality in a ten-foot bubble. Plus," she added, a flicker of something almost like embarrassment crossing her features, "there's a psychological component. Pattern Domains are expected to be physically weak, to hide behind their calculations. When they see me with this..." She gestured to the massive blade. "...they hesitate. That hesitation is worth 1.3 seconds on average. In combat, that's an eternity."

  She continued, "Also, unlike other Domains, I lack a lot of innate defensive capabilities. No armor generation like Forge Domains, no phasing like Void Domains, no lightning shields like Storm Domains. This blade is wide enough to act as a shield, capable of withstanding most attacks up to Sequence Four and would offer partial protection against some Sequence Three assaults. I also had it crafted to be beyond light."

  She unslung the massive weapon and, with a flick of her wrist that seemed to defy the laws of motion, tossed the greatsword to Cole. He braced himself, his legs locking in preparation for a massive impact, expecting to feel the full weight of a ton of forged alloy. His new Null-Guard plating hummed in anticipation of the impact. Instead, he caught it and nearly stumbled forward from the lack of resistance.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  What the hell?

  It was the equivalent of catching a feather. He had to look down to confirm he was holding it; his tactile sensors were confused by the contradiction between size and weight.

  Error messages flashed in his peripheral vision: "MASS/VOLUME RATIO INCONSISTENT. RECALIBRATING HAPTIC FEEDBACK."

  "How?" he breathed, running a hand along the smooth, cool metal. The surface felt like liquid mathematics given form. Where his fingers touched, tiny equations appeared and dissolved, the blade analyzing him in return. The sword was checking him out. That was definitely not creepy at all.

  "The Sequence Four Forge-smith who made it wove a conceptual thread of 'weightlessness' into the alloy's molecular structure," Iris explained. "Cost me three years of savings and a favor I'm still paying off. The favor involves calculating the optimal breeding patterns for her pet void-touched cats. The math alone gives me migraines. The smith said it was the hardest commission she'd ever taken: making something be what it wasn't while still being what it was. The blade can cut through most shields while allowing me to channel some of my own Domain abilities into it, imposing my own geometric logic onto its cutting edge. It is, by every calculated metric, beyond practical. It is optimal."

  She ran her hand along the flat of the blade, and Cole noticed something. Where she touched it, the equations changed, became more complex, as if the sword recognized its wielder. "It's also loyal. Took six months for it to stop trying to return to the forge where it was made. Now it knows me. Knows my math."

  "And the red?" Cole asked, a grin spreading across his face. "You can't tell me that wasn't just to add some cool factor. Come on, even you have to admit it looks badass."

  Iris let out an exasperated breath. Her tattoos flickered, like she was recalculating whether to answer honestly. "Red has a specific wavelength that draws the eye, creating a subconscious focal point. Specifically, 650 to 700 nanometers, which triggers the most aggressive response in the human amygdala. My opponents focus on the large, bright, obvious threat of the blade. It makes them focus on the wrong thing, allowing me to manipulate the true variables of the fight: footing, balance, and timing, without them noticing. Like a colorful feather on a spear designed to distract from the sharp point."

  She paused, then added quietly, "Also... Lucius said it would look 'sick as hell,' and it seemed like a small price to pay to get him to stop bothering me about weapon aesthetics."

  Cole just chuckled. There it was. Even the human calculator had a breaking point, and apparently it was Lucius's fashion advice. "Right. A tactical feather. Got it. And definitely not because you secretly think it's cool."

  Even in her choice of color, Iris was all about the numbers. It was terrifying, and strangely, very weirdly awesome.

  "Anyway, you ready?" Iris said, as a shimmering, golden mesh field sprang into existence around them, enclosing a large section of the arena. The mesh resonated with a low, mathematical frequency. Where it touched the sand, perfect geometric patterns formed, grains arranging themselves into fractals.

  "Sure." Cole drew the twin blades from his back. They felt suddenly inadequate compared to her monster of a sword. His Fractal Blades sensed the presence of Iris’s sword and dimmed slightly, like smaller predators acknowledging an apex hunter. "Though I am surprised you didn't first have me do some software updates."

  "The comprehensive updates needed to entirely counter my combat style would overload your current neural architecture." Iris’s tone like a patient but severe teacher. "It would fry your brain. I ran the simulations. None of them ended well for you. In the most interesting one, you ended up believing you were a living spreadsheet and tried to divide by zero. It was… messy. And Lia would kill me if I let that happen to her new..."

  Oh, this should be good.

  Iris paused, her eyes flickering as she rapidly processed social data. Her tattoos actually displayed loading bars for a fraction of a second. One equation read "CALCULATING APPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP DESCRIPTOR" before being quickly hidden. She was literally computing what to call him. He'd never felt so romantically categorized

  "Her new... person." The word came out like she was pronouncing something in a foreign language. Her accent shifted slightly.

  Her tattoos briefly displayed "ERROR: SOCIAL PROTOCOL UNCERTAIN" before she suppressed them. A small equation appeared on her wrist that simply read "PERSON ≠ OPTIMAL DESCRIPTOR".

  Cole was amused by her careful, computational approach to his dating life. "Sure, whatever you say. Though 'person' makes me sound like a pet or a houseplant."

  "Houseplants have a zero percent probability of surviving in Lia's care," Iris stated. "You have at least twenty-three percent. A significant improvement. She once had a cactus. It caught fire. We still don't know how. The incident report just says 'spontaneous botanical combustion.' She's banned from five nurseries."

  “She burns toast did you know that? She can craft amazing weapons, but perfectly brown bread is elusive to her.”

  "Correct," Iris stated, without a hint of humor. "When she stayed with me for a month the kitchen's fire suppression system was activated seventeen times. Fifteen of those events are designated 'Project Toaster.' Her mastery is specialized." Her head tilted a fraction of a degree, as if categorizing the information. "As is mine."

  Iris continued, "We need your body to develop a baseline response. To learn how to react to my attacks. Any necessary software upgrades can be carefully installed afterward. It won't be a complete stack, but it will help greatly. Think of it as learning to swim by being thrown in the ocean. Specifically, an ocean where the water occasionally forgets how to be liquid and the concept of buoyancy is more of a suggestion than a law. If you survive, you'll know how to swim. If not, well, the sand here processes bodies very efficiently. The conversion rate is quite impressive. You'd be mulch within six hours. Very nutritious mulch. They sell it to the vertical farms. Circle of life and all that. Until then, let's begin."

  [Debug Menu: Debug Entity?]

  Reality Warper.

  To Elijah, it’s a cheat menu disguised as magic — one that lets him edit enemies, rewrite loot, and bend quests to his will.

  Every change risks corruption.

  He’s the reason it exists.

  And Elijah is holding the backdoor.

  Releasing Daily