James Mahe climbed up a hill, his boots crunching against the overly dry grass, though the grass looked very nourished. Around him, battles happened and ended, teams had flags, but quickly lost them to third-party teams.

He was the only one who decided to climb anything, as if he had so much leisure time. Finally, he thought, his monologue bitter, with a bitter sneer on his lips. No more of those idiots dragging me down.

He'd always been the "one" to fix things. Back in the guild halls, when the gates first opened and monsters poured in straight out of a nightmare, who'd steeped up? Him. At least that's what he wanted to believe anyway.

James Mahe, the guy with "thunder" in his veins, the one who could call down storms on a whim. He'd pulled rookies out of rubble that he may have created, killed beasts that had whole squads pinned down, which unironically again that he had created.

And what did he get? Side glances from the old guards, from civilians, from Marcus, from his own guild members. He heard rumors of him going around calling him "too flashy."

"Bullied," that's what it was. Picked on for being better, for shining when everyone else hid. They never see it, he whispered, fuming to himself, kicking a rock that skidded down the steep slope. I help, I lead, and they treat me like the villain. Like I'm the problem.

The doctors had diagnosed him with narcissistic tendencies, though they weren't alive long enough to share those details. They also diagnosed him with a new type of dual personality.

It burned, that resentment. Built up over the years, layer by layer, until it felt like a second skin. He wasn't "narcissistic," was what he told himself, no, that was their word for it. A cheap label to cut him down.

He was just realistic. The world needed leaders like him, not committee drones like Marcus or wide-eyed newbies like Nova, who wanted to help their guilds and countries.

That kid, especially. Nova, with his quiet commands and lucky breaks. James had watched from the spectator box, seething as Kai slapped his back like they were old pals. What the hell does he have that I don't? James clenched his fists. Nothing. Zip. But they flock to him anyway. Bullies, all of 'em.

He crested the hill and spotted it, a flag tucked perfectly in a creater, shallow enough, its banner reflects its fire affinity. It was a strong pick. His pulse quickened. This one's mine. I'll submit it solo and steal the fucking show.

But as he jogged down, his comm came to life in his ear, and a different plan wormed in. Over the last couple of months, things had shifted. Back home, away from the guild's dry eyes, he'd built something real.

The Shadow Circuit, a network of awakened folks tired of their guilds' red tape, the endless quests for scraps. Smugglers, enforcers, info brokers. And him? The boss of the place, the one who called the shots.

It started small. A backroom deal with a gate looter, fencing monster cores for cash. Then word spread, folks who felt like him, pushed around by the system. Bullied into silence.

But now? He had traction. Real power. Syndicate branches in three cities. Constructions of even more around the acursed world.

They respect me there, James thought, a shiver of thrill running down his spine. No questions, and no fucking bullshit. Just plain old results. The guilds could rot; the Circuit was his empire, his own empire.

He paused at the flag's edge, hand hovering over the pole. What if I burn it all? Turn on them, right here. The thought ignited a spark of intensity and curiosity. Revenge for all those times they had "bullied" him.

For every strident, hateful comment, every dirty side-eyed glance. Nova was leading the huddle, even though he wasn't the strongest or even the top five, technically. That was all fine, let the kid play hero. James would be the storm that ended it.

He pulled his comm, switching to a private channel. Then he heard a voice, low, gravelly, his second-in-command: "Boss? You in the thick of it?"

James glanced back the way he'd come. His team, his team, really, even if they forgot it, would be down with their little prize by now. "Yeah. Change of plans, Rico. Send the signal. The Circuit moves tonight. We hit the guilds hard after this, starting with ours."

A pause, then a chuckle. "About time. You sure? Mahe's always been loyal to the badge."

"Not anymore." James's voice hardened. "They bully me, Rico. Act like I'm the thug. Time they saw what that really means." He snapped the comm off, his heart pounding with a sinister intent.

Revenge, the word tasted like victory. He yanked the flag free, the crimson fabric coiling in his grip like a snake. No submission. Not yet. He'd circle back, play the part a little longer. Then strike.

He went towards his team, seeing them exhausted and gathered in a circle. James stepped into view, the flag he was carrying slung over his shoulder like a trophy. "Miss me?"

Heads snapped up. Nova rose slowly, eyes narrowing. "James. You get one?"

"Solo grab." He tossed it down, letting it unfold dramatically. Lies, all of it, but they bought it.

Trevor lit up first, scrambling over. "Boss! That's huge. We submit this with ours, double the glory!"

James ruffled the kid's hair, fatherly. Poor sap. Loyal to a fault. "Easy there, Trevor. We'll talk strat." He scanned them, the resentment bubbling hot. Look at you. Cozy without me. Bullying me out.

Galileo glanced up from his sketches, brow furrowed. "You were gone a while. Run into trouble?"

"Trouble?" James laughed sharply. "Nah. Just thinking. About us. The guild." He paced closer.

"Thinking?" Nova said, confused. "About what?"

"About how I've carried this lot for years." James stopped, facing them square. His voice dropped, looking mainly at the older Adventurers. "Pulled your asses from gates. Trained you. And what? You sideline me for the new guy?" He jabbed a finger at Nova. "That quiet little savior act? It's bullshit. You're all bullies. Picking on me 'cause I shine brighter."

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