The flotilla deck settled underfoot. Suspended in midair, Kemi hung encased in jagged, ruby glass that pulsed at low intervals. Each vibration rattled the brass floor plates, showing a clock face etched across the red shell, counting down. Less than an hour. The Crimson Swell wasn’t just coming; it was already here. "Master Teyo, what commands do you have for Zallan?" Zallan asked, glancing between Kemi's cage and the groaning timber of the fleet. "Shall I strike the prism? It appears to be raw mana, yet oddly resistant to my standard strikes." Teyo ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the ship’s vital points. The engine room. The mana conduits. Brilla’s ovens, still humming with residual energy from her last batch. He needed to reroute the entire power grid, flood it. A buffer overflow on a global scale. It was a speedrunner’s nightmare, a Rube Goldberg machine of glitches and exploitations, but it was the only way. Teyo looked across the timber planks to a brass steering pillar where Senior Proctor Vael stood on watch. The proctor held an iron hoop weighed down by five bypass keys—the ones keyed to the bilge manifolds, engine vents, and pump relays. “Zallan,” Teyo stated, his voice calm despite the racing thoughts. “You need to acquire those keys.” Zallan’s posture stiffened. “Understood, Master. Direct infiltration? A diversionary tactic? I could challenge Proctor Vael to formal combat, perhaps a test of blades? My combat prowess is at your disposal!” “No duels,” Teyo sighed, rubbing his temples. The last thing he needed was Zallan flattening another high-ranking NPC. “I need you to charm him.” Zallan paused, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Charm, Master? My apologies, but my combat protocols do not include… social engagement of that nature.” "You have maximum reputation stats," Teyo countered. “You’re supposed to be charismatic. Go. Flirt aggressively. Make him uncomfortable enough to drop the keys, but not enough to call security. Make it public.” Zallan’s face went through a bewildering series of expressions: confusion, then dawning comprehension, then a look of resolute, if slightly horrified, resolve. "For your rest cycle, I shall endure any test!" Straightening his embroidered doublet, he marched toward Vael with rigid cadence. "Proctor Vael!" Zallan shouted in a stiff theatrical clip. "Your glance gleams like fresh-cut lapis! What striking... structural integrity!" The proctor paused mid-inspection of a floor seam, turning around. "Ranker Zallan? Are you experiencing a status affliction?" Zallan took a step closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly, overly-intimate murmur. "My condition, sir, reflects the radiant presence you project! That tunic, so flatly ironed! It displays an administrative discipline I find remarkably... stimulating." He crowded Vael's collar, locking stare to stare. Vael stepped backward into the brass housing, clenching his key ring. "Ranker, clear the command perimeter immediately!" "Clear it? How could I withdraw," Zallan declared, leaning further forward, "when confronted by such regulatory excellence? You direct these planks with matchless rhythm!" He jutted an arm upward to flex his sleeve directly before the proctor's nose. Several Conservatory students nearby had stopped their training, gaping. A few instructors covered their mouths to hide snickers. Vael's skin flushed deep scarlet. His hand, still gripping the key ring, began to tremble. "Desist! Step out of my personal radius!" Vael backed toward a halyard while Zallan matched him stride for stride. "Unprovoked?" Zallan gasped. "My esteem for your ledger management cannot be contained! Share an infusion in my quarters, proctor. We may analyze infractions until dawn." Vael emitted a ragged noise, shoved the bundle of iron into Zallan's ribs, and broke into a fast stride toward the lower steerage without looking back. The keys clattered loudly in Zallan’s outstretched hand. "Target secured, Teyo!" Zallan called, returning with a broad grin. "The official surrendered his clearance tokens without resistance!" Brilla, humming as she shifted flour sacks beside Kemi's ruby shell, turned around. “Oh, did you get the big keys? I need the big keys for my new oven idea. It’s going to be so grand!” She took them from Zallan’s hand, completely ignoring the implications of how they were acquired. With a practiced ease, she began slotting them into a series of heavy conduits Teyo had previously identified as the main mana lines. She then turned a series of heavy brass valves, redirecting the massive flow of liquid mana that fed the entire Conservatory flotilla directly into her largest oven. The hull timber groaned. Stenciled six-sided icons across the canvas sacks flared into bright teal script. [ABYSSAL LOG: SYSTEM PAUSE INITIATED.] Deck, ruby casing, and distant surf locked rigid mid-frame. The countdown timer paused at thirty-one minutes. The liquid mana rivers beneath the bilge fell dead silent. Teyo found himself suspended in an eerie, silent void, the only conscious entity. Before him, not a chime, but a clean, perfectly rendered data screen materialized. It wasn’t red, wasn’t broken. It was pristine, inviting. [ABYSSAL LOG: DIRECT COMMUNICATION ESTABLISHED. PRIORITY OVERRIDE: ALPHA.] [ABYSSAL LOG: TEYO. WE OFFER A DEAL.] [ABYSSAL LOG: TERMINATE KEMI. ALLOW CRIMSON SWELL TO COMPLETE. FULL SERVER WIPE PROTOCOL ACTIVATES. WE WILL THEN GENERATE A PERMANENT, OFFLINE INSTANCE. YOUR INSTANCE. A PERSONAL REALITY. ALL GLITCHES, ALL EXPLOITS, ALL INTERRUPTIONS—GONE.] [ABYSSAL LOG: ETERNAL COMFORT. UNLIMITED NAPPING. PERFECTLY AUTOMATED. FREE FROM ALL GAME MECHANICS. FOREVER. ACCEPT?] The prompt glowed, a warm, beckoning light. Two buttons appeared beneath the text: [ACCEPT] [DECLINE]. Teyo stared at it, at the impossible, perfect promise. His ultimate goal, handed to him on a silver platter, free from all effort, all risk. It was everything he’d ever wanted since waking up exhausted. His finger, trembling almost imperceptibly, reached out toward the System’s prompt, hovering just above the ‘Accept’ button.

Overfilling the Mana Pool