Rinzen held Master Paldor, the grandmaster's weight surprisingly light as his breath shallowed. The rattling coughs had subsided, replaced by a shallow, almost imperceptible whisper of air. Outside the lounge, the percussive thud of heavy boots grew louder, closer. Syndicate bombers. Garmon. The scroll. Rinzen’s gaze swept from Paldor’s ashen face to the gaping hole in the wall, then to Tirza Fen, who stood frozen, spear-staff held loosely, her face a mask of horrified disbelief. “We have to move him,” Tirza finally managed, her voice tight with urgency. She dropped to one knee, her eyes scanning Paldor’s slumped form. “He’s losing too much internal chi. The venom is spreading.” “The stairwell,” Rinzen stated, his own voice surprisingly steady. He scooped Paldor into a fireman’s carry, the grandmaster’s ancient robes rustling. “Main access is blocked, but the auxiliary stairwell should be clear. It goes through the biome levels.” Tirza’s jaw tightened. “The biomes? Those environmental torture chambers? Fine. But we’ll be exposed.” “Less exposed than here,” Rinzen grunted, adjusting Paldor. The grandmaster’s skin felt clammy against his cheek. “Garmon won’t expect us to climb. He’ll expect us to hide.” The secondary escape route ran in stark contrast to the opulent lounges. It was a narrow, utilitarian shaft, but at every tenth floor, a heavy, reinforced door opened into one of the Zenith Pagoda’s infamous biome training zones. The first, a sweltering jungle, reeked of damp earth and unfamiliar blossoms. Syndicate thugs, easily identifiable by their black-and-crimson vests, were already sweeping through it, their crude blasters spitting bolts of condensed air. Tirza, moving with a ferocity Rinzen had never seen, became a whirling dervish of steel and precise strikes, her spear-staff a blur against the dim, humid light. She cleared a path, then turned, finding Rinzen already leaning against a moss-covered wall, Paldor propped carefully beside him. “Are you resting?” she hissed, incredulous, her chest heaving slightly. “We’re under attack, you sloth!” “Master Paldor needs a moment to stabilize,” Rinzen murmured, his lids shut against the glare. “And I need a short nap. Climbing is… such a chore.” Before Tirza could explode, Rinzen was already breathing deeply, his face serene. A furious flush crept up Tirza’s neck. She planted herself in front of him, spear-staff extended, snarling at any thug who dared approach. One particularly zealous enforcer, sporting a jagged scar across his cheek, lunged past her, aiming a kick at Rinzen’s head. Tirza shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage, and drove the butt of her spear-staff into the man’s solar plexus, sending him spiraling into a thicket of glowing fungi. “Don’t you dare wake him!” she roared, her voice echoing through the biome. “He’s sleeping! You cretins!” This pattern repeated, floor after grueling floor. The tundra biome, a frigid expanse of shimmering ice and crystalline flora, saw Rinzen huddled against a glacial formation, cocooned in Paldor’s thickest robe, while Tirza became a blur of white frost and furious blows. The desert biome, all shifting sands and scorching winds, forced Rinzen to burrow into a dune, leaving Tirza to fend off desert bandits with sand-blasted fury. Rinzen would rouse himself just long enough to climb the next ten flights, Paldor still cradled in his arms, before collapsing for another catnap. Tirza, exhausted but driven by a newfound, terrifying protectiveness, felt her admiration for Rinzen, begrudging at first, deepen into something far more confusing. On the thirtieth floor, an artificial grotto biome of jagged stalactites and phosphorescent pools, they encountered Garmon’s ‘Fangs of the Abyss,’ three elite lieutenants whose reputations for brutality were whispered across the Chi-Net. The leader, a hulking enforcer named Krelak, had broad, gnarled fists that glowed with contained power. His two companions, the swift-moving twins, Zyra and Zylos, moved in perfect, synchronized strikes. Tirza knew she was outmatched, but she braced herself, shielding Rinzen, who had just settled down for another nap, against the stone outcrop. “Stand aside, girl,” the brute rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. “We’re here for the Mabari heir.” “Over my dead body!” Tirza screamed, lunging. She met his first blow with a desperate block, the impact jarring her to her teeth. Zyra and Zylos darted in, a flurry of kicks and open-palm strikes. Tirza fought valiantly, but she was slowly being overwhelmed, pushed back towards Rinzen’s still form. One of Zyra’s whips curled around her spear-staff, yanking it away. Zylos moved in for a disabling strike. Suddenly, Rinzen stirred. His lids remained lowered, but his head tilted almost imperceptibly. Zylos, mid-strike, found his foot catching on an unseen ripple in the grotto floor. He stumbled, arms flailing, directly into Krelak’s path. The leader, distracted by Tirza, didn’t see him until it was too late. His heavy fist, intended for Tirza, connected with Zylos’s jaw with a sickening crack. Zylos crumpled, unconscious. Zyra, enraged, spun towards Rinzen, a dagger materializing in her hand. But as she moved, a gust of wind, inexplicable in the still chamber, caught her ornate hair clasps. Her hand instinctively flew up to secure them, throwing off her balance. She pitched forward, directly into the path of the brawler's sweeping backhand, meant for Tirza. The giant roared in frustration as Zyra, too, went down, a tangled heap beside her twin. He stood alone, bewildered, his targets seemingly collapsing before him. Rinzen, still leaning against the rock, lids shut, simply shifted his weight slightly. The surviving enforcer charged. But as he ran, a small, smooth pebble dislodged from the ceiling, landing precisely beneath his leading foot. His stride faltered, his momentum twisting him sideways. He veered off course, crashing headfirst into a towering stalagmite, the stone ringing with the force of the collision. He slid down, unconscious, his glowing fists now limp. Tirza gaped from the three fallen Fangs to Rinzen, who merely yawned, a tiny, almost inaudible sound. He hadn't unsealed his eyes. He hadn't shifted from his slouch. Yet, he had dismantled three syndicate lieutenants by subtly nudging their balance. A prickle of heat spread across Tirza’s ribs. Her pulse kicked once, hard and sudden against her collarbone. He was infuriating, lazy, and utterly, profoundly… magnificent. “Rinzen! Rinzen, you glorious fraud!” A voice boomed from the open fire door, amplified by a cheap sound system. Jenshi Mabari, clad in a new, shimmering jumpsuit, strode into the grotto, trailed by a portable generator, glaring spotlights, and two frantic Chi-Net camera operators. “Look at him, folks! My brother, Rinzen, single-handedly clearing the way! Truly a Mabari through and through!” Jenshi prattled on, gesturing wildly at the unconscious lieutenants, positioning himself in front of them as if he were their conqueror. He ignored Tirza completely, already mugging for the cameras. “This is the power of the Mabari bloodline, streaming live to the entire Chi-Net! What a comeback for the Mabari name!” Rinzen, still resting without opening his eyes, let out an exasperated sigh. Tirza, however, was already taking a furious step towards Jenshi, ready to tear him limb from limb for his audacity. Before she could move, a dark, impossibly swift shadow detached itself from the high rock ceiling. Lord Garmon, clad in his black fighting robes, dropped silently, landing with a whisper of displaced air directly behind Jenshi. His hand shot out, wrapping around Jenshi’s throat. On the live Chi-Net broadcast, Jenshi’s triumphant grin twisted into a terrified gasp, his eyes bulging as Garmon lifted him effortlessly off the ground. The cameras, still rolling, captured every horrifying detail. “Rinzen Mabari,” Garmon’s voice, deep and chilling, reverberated through the hollow chamber. “Your brother’s life for the scroll. Or for yours.”

Ascent of the Sleepy Dragon