The moment they stepped into Luis's cramped apartment, Zyx flopped onto the couch like a sack of laundry that had given up on life. He kicked his feet onto the scratched coffee table and sighed like someone slipping into a hot bath.
"Ahhh, sweet, sweet obscurity," he murmured, fingers laced behind his head. "Nothing beats being an irrelevant nobody in a sea of a million Hosts. Keeps you off everyone's murder list."
Luis locked the door, checked the windows—twice—and finally exhaled. His hands were still trembling. His brain felt like it had been spinning in a blender for hours.
"You said something earlier," he muttered, peeling off his soaked hoodie and tossing it onto the floor. "About cheating the system."
Zyx snorted. "Kid, there's no such thing as cheating in the Ascension Royale. Not really. The celestial crowd's watching every move we make—this whole thing's their version of prime-time TV. You try breaking the rules, they just rewrite them to screw you over harder."
Luis frowned. "So what is the plan?"
"The plan," Zyx said, straightening up, "is not to be noticed. Right now, every Host showing off their powers is basically wearing a neon sign that says kill me next. The veterans, the monsters, WHI—hell, even the audience—they're all zeroing in on threats. So we don't look like one."
Luis rubbed his temples, exhausted. "So… hide?"
"We survive," Zyx corrected. "We keep our heads down. You're Level 1, Luis. You've got the power of cosmic misfortune—which is only useful if people don't see it coming. You're not gonna tank a guy who can bend steel or fry buildings. So we let them fight each other. Then we clean up what's left."
It wasn't a heroic plan. It wasn't even a fair one. But Luis couldn't argue with it. Not when the alternative was dying for someone else's ratings.
He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, expecting static. Instead, the screen flickered to a chaotic news broadcast mid-crisis.
"—violent clashes erupting between empowered individuals and local law enforcement—"
"—monsters confirmed in twelve major cities, death tolls already in the thousands—"
"—if you believe you've been chosen, the Global Defense Initiative urges you to report immediately. Sanctuary and compensation will be provided—"
Luis paused as a stern official filled the screen. He stood behind a podium, framed by armed guards.
"To all Hosts," the man said, voice unwavering, "the GDI offers protection and purpose. Join us, and you'll have access to resources and training. But if you oppose us, you will be treated as an enemy of humanity."
A ticker crawled across the bottom of the screen:
[GDI OFFERS 6-FIGURE SALARIES TO REGISTERED HOSTS]
Luis leaned forward. "That… sounds tempting."
Zyx sat up, eyes sharp. "It's a trap."
Luis blinked. "What? It's the government—"
"It's a meat grinder," Zyx cut in. "You think you're the first broke Host to consider it? Half my previous hosts signed up with some agency. Know how many lived longer than a week?" He held up one finger. "None. Because the moment you're part of a squad, you stop moving at your own pace. You follow orders. You split kills. You fall behind. And in this game, falling behind means dying."
Luis chewed his lip. "But if we stay solo, we're exposed."
"And if you're in a group, you're a target," Zyx said flatly. "The GDI? WHI? They're basically buffets for veteran gods. Packs of low-level Hosts bunched up in one place. Easy XP."
Another explosion echoed outside, shaking the windows. The screen cut to live footage—a Silver-class monster rampaging through downtown, missiles bouncing off its armored skin like toys.
[SURVIVING HOSTS: 996,401]
The number kept falling.
Luis slumped into the nearest chair and stared up at the ceiling. "So what now?"
Zyx's grin returned, lazy and cruel. "Now? We wait. Let the power-hungry idiots kill each other. Let the heroes burn themselves out. Then…"
He made a slicing motion across his throat. "We clean house."
Luis didn't like it. It felt wrong.
But he didn't have a better idea.
And the numbers weren't slowing down.