Into the Rebellion
Raghav stood in front of the train station at Sector 9's decommissioned line. The platform was cracked, overgrown with vines, and no trains had officially run here for over a decade.
He checked the token again.
> "3 vertical slashes. No court, no chain."
Just as the old clock struck 12:13 AM, the air shimmered—once. A low hum vibrated through the platform. And without warning, a train emerged from thin air.
No tracks. No engine sound. Just an obsidian black bullet car, covered in sigils that glowed a dull red. Its windows were opaque, and its doors slid open with a hiss that sounded more like a warning than a welcome.
He stepped in.
The lights inside were dim. Smoke curled from unseen vents. Only six seats were occupied—spaced out, like predators watching each other in a cage.
Raghav sat near the back, eyes cautious. The door closed behind him.
The train didn't move. The world around it did.
---
Exactly four minutes later, the doors opened again. But they weren't in Sector 9 anymore.
They were underground.
Very far underground.
Carved into ancient stone, the place pulsed with chaotic relic energy. No suppression. No judges. No officials.
Just raw, unfiltered aura.
Before him stretched a coliseum of ruin, surrounded by jagged rock and iron stairways. Above the arena, suspended in mid-air, was a cracked emblem of a shattered racket chained at three corners.
> The Rebellion Crest.
Dozens of figures stood around the outer rings. Some wore cloaks. Some didn't hide their faces. One guy was shirtless with rune tattoos burned across his chest. Another wore a blindfold and whispered to his Relic between every breath.
Then the girl from before appeared beside him—silver-haired, orange-eyed.
"Welcome to the Rune Rebellion," she said. "Don't speak unless challenged. Don't swing unless you're ready to bleed."
She gestured toward the center platform.
"That's the Gauntlet Board. Everyone gets ranked. You fight your way up. One match per tier. Lose twice? You're out. Die once? You stay out."
Raghav raised a brow. "People actually die?"
She didn't blink. "This is where the Hidden Court dumps its trash. Or where its best run when they've outgrown their leash."
He stepped forward, passing through a veil of rune smoke.
The moment his foot touched the stone floor, the air reacted.
A heavy gong sounded—BOOM—and the crackling voice of an unseen announcer echoed:
"New Entry: Token Tier – UNKNOWN. Name: Rao, Raghav. Relic: Devourer-Class."
The crowd stirred.
Whispers rose.
"Devourer?"
"Like the legend?"
"Another eater joins the pit."
One cloaked figure tilted his head and stepped forward.
"I'll test him."
The figure removed his hood. A young man, sharp-boned, eyes like polished stone.
Name: Dakar Valen
Relic: Nullbone – Class: Anti-Consumption
The girl hissed. "You got a counter as your first opponent. Typical."
---
The duel zone cracked open below them—platforms rising, mist swirling.
Dakar stepped in first. His racket looked skeletal—like it had been carved from some ancient beast's spine. Runes didn't light. They absorbed light.
"You eat relics?" Dakar said, stepping into ready stance. "Let's see what happens when the prey bites back."
Raghav activated the Devourer.
But for the first time since bonding with it… the Devourer flinched.
Its aura recoiled slightly. Something about Dakar's relic made it hesitate.
Raghav whispered to it. "Don't hold back. I won't either."
Then the gong struck again.
Match Begin.
Dakar didn't serve the ball—he threw it. Fast. Illegal by academy standards, but this wasn't an academy.
Raghav caught it mid-air with a reflexive swing—but when his strings made contact, the ball absorbed energy. His shot came out dead. Flat.
Dakar smirked.
"Nullbone eats power. Yours. Mine. Doesn't matter."
Then he rushed the net.
> Not just his relic—his playstyle is oppressive. Relentless. Designed to kill tempo.
Raghav backpedaled, slammed a lob to reset.
Dakar didn't chase it.
He caught the ball instead—and crushed it in his hand.
Another foul. Another warning. No consequences.
"You play with rules," Dakar said. "That's why you'll lose here."
Raghav's jaw tightened.
> Then maybe it's time to stop playing like I'm still in the Court.
---
The second game, Raghav changed tactics.
He slowed. He watched. Let Dakar press forward, overextend—and snap. He nailed a blindside backhand when Dakar left a corner exposed.
15–0.
The crowd leaned in.
The Devourer began humming again—adjusting to the Null field. It was learning.
And behind it, the fifth rune flickered once.
---
Final point.
Raghav served low and fast—aimed for body. Dakar redirected, tried to rush the net again.
But Raghav feinted right, then spun left—and unleashed the fifth rune's edge.
Not fully. Just a glimpse.
A phantom strike that split the ball into two shadows. One false, one real.
Dakar reacted too late.
Ace.
---
The gong struck.
Winner: Raghav Rao.
The platform descended. Dakar stared at him as they passed.
"Your relic's waking up," he said softly. "That's not always a good thing."
Raghav walked past him without a word.
Above them, the board updated:
> Rao, Raghav – Rank: Unclassified → Rogue Tier 3
---
Back in the shadows, Mira watched from behind a cloak.
She hadn't told Raghav she was coming.
But someone had to make sure he didn't get consumed by what he was becoming.
---