The portal spat them out, and Nova hit the ground rolling. The dirt and grass bashed into his face, with the kind of landing that can knock the wind out of an ordinary person. He coughed, pushing up on his elbows, and blinked against the sudden glare of sunlight.

Around him, the American guild sprawled in a loose cluster. The battlefield stretched out like some twisted park gone wrong. Rolling hills dipped and rose under a sky that looked too blue, too perfect, like the tournament folks had cranked up the graphics.

But up close, it was a mess. The ground was cracked in patches, dotted with weird stone pillars. Trees clustered in thick batches here and there, their leaves mixing purple and green together, blocking sight.

In the distance, a massive spire loomed at the center, golden in color, that had to be the submission point, a good mile or two off, easy to spot but hell to reach without eyes on you. The flags? It was going to be a long day, though Nova wanted to cut it short.

Nova scanned: colorful banners poking up from the ground, some were out in the open, while others were tucked in hollows or half-buried under rubble.

"Form up!" Nova shouted for his teammates to hear.

The team formed a circle around him, except for one. James Mahe dusted off his clothes as though he had just stepped out of a limo. He straightened, putting on his grin for no one in particular, then shot a look at the team, more important Nova.

"Alright, listen up. We go bold, straight for the center flags. I'll lead the charge, draw all the attention. You lot flank and support. We can end this right now, people."

It wasn't just a statement; it was more like he was reading off a script he'd written himself. Before anyone could chime in, he turned on his heel and broke into a jog toward a cluster of flags shimmering in the distance. He was solo, like always.

Trevor hesitated, his usual fanboy shuffle kicking in. He glanced at James's back, mouth half-open like he was about to bolt after him, but then he caught Nova's eye. Something in it, maybe the nod Marcus gave him, or just the way the team held formation without a crack, made him plant his feet.

"Screw it," Trevor whispered, mostly to himself. "Not babysitting that egotistic maniac this time." He gripped his shield tighter, slotting in beside Col. First smart call the kid had made all tournament.

Nova didn't waste a breath on it. "Good. Zane, scout, left, flag at two o'clock, tucked by those rocks. Looks like wind affinity from the swirl. Michael, with him. The rest of us push right, low and quiet. Elesch, eyes on intercepts."

Zane ran off without a word. Michael followed him. The team moved, a ragged line weaving through knee-high grass that tickled against their legs. Nova's daggers felt heavy in his hands, as if he were nervous holding them. His heart pounded, not necessarily by fear, but by the rush of adrenaline.

They crested a shallow dip, and there it was: their first flag. Planted crooked in a patch of scorched earth, a blue banner. Electric affinity. Nova's gut twisted; it was too easy, sitting out in the open like bait. But hell, first one's free, right?

"Jackpot," Adam whispered, claws flexing as he crouched low. "No traps I see. Galileo, scan it?"

Galileo murmured a quick incant, his pad flickering blue. "Clean. But vibes off. Like it's calling something."

Before Nova could call scout-back, Zane's voice crackled over comms: "Eyes on, shit, British inbound, three heavies, wind support. They're vectoring the flag. Got thirty seconds."

Nova swore. "Split, half hold the flag, half flank 'em. Emma, Col, Trevor, stay here and dig in. Galileo, ward up. Rest with me, we hit their side, disrupt the rush. Elesch, rift us close."

They stepped through, right in the Britisher's blind spot. The enemy guild was mid-charge: five strong, burly types in green-trimmed gear, one lanky guy whipping gusts to cover their advance.

Their tank, a mountain of a dude with a hammer that glowed earth-brown, led, smashing divots in the ground like he owned it.

Nova signaled silently: Zane, speed-trap their wind guy. Michael, freeze the tank's feet. Adam, claws on the flankers. They moved like a pack, no chatter, no questions, only actions.

Zane hit first, yanked the wind-caster's ankles out, and the guy went down yelping, gusts fizzling wild. Michael followed, palms slamming ground; ice spiderwebbed up, locking the tank's boots in a crackle of frost. The big man roared, hammer swinging wild, but he was stuck, swinging at air.

"Cunt!" one flanker barked.

Adam lunged from the grass, claws raking deep into the guy's thigh. Blood spilled, and the Britisher staggered back, firing a sloppy bolt of stone that grazed Adam's shoulder. Nova felt the sting echo in his own arm, a close-quarters bite.

The tank broke free with an earth-shake, chunks of ice shattering like glass. He charged Michael, hammer high for an overhead that'd cave skull. Nova dove in, daggers crossing to parry, the impact jarred his bones, vibrations shooting up his arms like he'd arm-wrestled a truck.

He twisted, using the momentum to slash low, nicking the tank's knee. Not deep, but enough to slow him, blood welling dark.

Back at the flag, shit was popping off. Emma's arrows whistled, pinning a Britisher rogue mid-leap; the guy hit dirt with a thunk, an arrow through his skin.

Col swung his axe in a wide arc, catching another flanker square in the chest plate; metal dented, breath whooshed out, but the bastard stayed up, countering with a knee that caught Col's ribs. Trevor tanked it solid, shield bashing the guy back, but took a rock spike to the leg for his trouble, yelping in pain, blood soaking his pants.

Galileo held the line, illusions blooming: fake flags popping up ten yards off, drawing fire. One Britisher unloaded a fireburst at a phantom, scorching the grass black. "Hold, hold!" Galileo yelled, sweat beading, mana flickering his staff dim.

Elesch rifted in a support hop. The guy tumbled into Trevor's shield bash, out cold. But their wind-caster was back up, no thanks to Zane's tangle, and he whipped a gust that bowled Michael over, his ice shield cracking. Nova saw it from the corner of his eye.

"Nova!" Zane's shout cut sharply.

The tank was free again, barreling his way, his hammer cocked for payback. Nova rolled to the side, dirt spraying, but the swing clipped his shoulder, and pain came to life.

He came up spitting grit, daggers flashing in a cross-slash that carved lines across the tank's arm guard. Sparks flew, but the big man laughed, low and mean, and swung again.

Adam clawed in from the side, buying seconds, but a stone bolt clipped his ear, blood trickling warm. The Britishers were regrouping, their rogue circling for the flag. Emma's arrow took his leg, but he crawled on, stubborn as hell.

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