Korin scoffed, a sneer curling his lip. “The arena? Don’t be ridiculous, Rizka. You couldn’t organize a sock drawer, let alone survive blood sport. This is some ploy by Ozer to leverage your negligible status. Back off, Ozer. She’s coming with me. My guards will escort you to your pathetic holding shell.” My hand tightened imperceptibly on Rizka’s back, a silent warning. “She is a free agent, Bael. She makes her own decisions.” Korin leveled a harsh stare. “Oh, does she? Because anyone who defies Bael Corp faces immediate blacklisting from every major utility, data stream, and commercial nexus in Xylos. You think you can operate without a commercial ID? Think again. She’ll be a ghost in the system, Ozer. A nobody. Unless, of course, she remembers her place.” He extended a hand, palm up, towards Rizka. “Come, Rizka. I’m offering you a chance to rectify this… misunderstanding. You can stay in my penthouse, where you belong. Safe. Away from… *this*.” His gesture encompassed the wrecked apartment, the neutralized assassins, and me. He genuinely seemed to believe he was offering salvation. Rizka shifted, murmuring something unintelligible. Her hair carried the faint tang of jasmine and burnt copper. I found myself completely unbothered by Korin’s threats. Blacklisting Rizka Voda? As if Xylos could *function* without her and her secret identities. Suddenly, the very air above us began to thrum. A low, growing roar, like a swarm of metallic beasts descending, vibrated through the shattered floorboards. The neon glow of Xylos, usually a constant hum, was momentarily eclipsed by seven colossal shadows. Gold. Pure, polished auric plating glinted blindingly as seven heavy-lift choppers, bearing the insignia of the *Aethelgard Consortium*—a notoriously reclusive and terrifyingly wealthy conglomerate—hovered directly over the ruined building. Repelling cables shot down, and a synchronized cascade of figures descended with practiced precision. Seven men, each immaculately dressed in tailored suits, hit the ground with barely a whisper, their movements fluid and coordinated. They fanned outward, disarming Korin’s private guards before anyone reached for a holster. Each man was a head taller than Korin, radiating an air of untouchable authority. Their gazes, sharp and possessive, immediately fixed on Rizka, still half-asleep in my arms. The closest, a man with steel-grey eyes and a scar tracing his left eyebrow, stepped forward. His voice, though calm, cut through the helicopter's din with a chilling clarity. “Korin Bael, you seem to have misplaced our sister.” This was Ronald, the eldest brother, known across the city for ruthless leveraged buyouts. Before Korin could stammer a reply, another, younger man with a mischievous grin and a shock of platinum hair, pulled out a sleek data-slate. “And what’s this? Bael Corp’s subsidiary, *Veridian Flux*, is trading at an abysmal -17% post-market. Honestly, Korin, your portfolio is embarrassing.” This was Renly, the financial prodigy. Korin's face drained of color. “Ronald? Renly? What are you doing here?” A third brother, with sharp, calculating eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, ignored Korin. He held up a finger to Ronald. “Just a moment, brother. I’m seeing some interesting divestment opportunities here. *Flux* is a liability, but their bio-optics division, *Retina-View*, has potential. We could acquire it for pennies on the dollar.” This was Thane, the strategist. “Done,” Ronald said, tapping his own screen without looking up. “Renly, initiate hostile takeover protocols on *Retina-View*. Thane, draw up the liquidation papers for *Veridian Flux* by morning. And you,” he finally looked at Korin, his eyes cold. “You will never threaten Rizka again. Not with blacklisting. Not with *anything*.” Korin stammered, his bravado crumbling. “You can’t—! That’s market manipulation! My—my companies!” “Were just purchased,” Renly announced, a triumphant smirk on his face as he looked at his slate. “Consider *Veridian Flux* absorbed into *Aethelgard*. *Retina-View* is now a wholly-owned subsidiary. Took less than seven seconds, Korin. You really should have paid attention to your diversified assets.” “The noise,” Rizka mumbled, finally stirring. She blinked slowly, looking up at the golden choppers, then at the seven imposing men in suits. “You guys are loud.” Ronald softened his stance and stepped closer. “Apologies, little sister. We heard there was an… *unpleasantness*. Are you unharmed?” He shot a dark glare at Korin, who visibly flinched. Rizka pushed herself upright, stretching languidly, ignoring Korin's gaping mouth. She glanced at the flickering arena broadcast on the unbroken monitor. “An arena match, huh? Kross wants to play. Annoying. Zenkai, you mentioned your penthouse suites have those new-gen feather-core mattresses? The ones with the integrated bio-rhythmic sleep cycle stabilizers?” My lips twitched. “Only the finest, Rizka. I ensure maximum comfort for my executives.” “Hmm.” She yawned, a tiny, elegant stretch of her jaw. “Fine. Back my entry. But if the mattresses aren't five-star, I’m switching to the next best offer. Your tournament paperwork, your problem.” She pushed away from me, moving with an effortless grace that belied her recent nap, and began to pat down her pockets. “Now, where's my spare power bank?” From the chaos, Jettio’s voice crackled through Rizka’s commlink, a frantic, triumphant squeal. “Mentor! Mentor, the Aethelgard brothers are a *gift*! Their network traffic is a total smokescreen! I just bounced off their triple-encrypted servers, bypassed the arena’s preliminary biometric lockdown, and—bingo! We’re in! Preliminary bracket secured! Zenkai Ozer registers Rizka Voda: Grandmaster, into the ring!”” The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the distant hum of the golden helicopters beginning to ascend. Korin Bael stared, his face a mask of utter devastation, his empire crumbling around him, his ex-wife casually accepting sponsorship into a death match, all while his former tormentors made aerial exits. The sight of his former wife stepping forward under my banner burned through his remaining pride. His gaze fell on his disarmed retinue, then drifted toward the distant, glowing spire of the arena district. His company, his very legacy, was plummeting into ruin. He had to stop this. He had to prove them all wrong. He would reclaim what was his. He snatched his comms unit with twitching fingers. “This is Korin Bael. Get me the contact for Kaelus Rane. The Void Serpent. I need him in the pit. Now. I’m entering my own fighter. And I’ll personally watch him crush Ozer’s proxy.”

The Golden Fleet