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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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Stages of Shadows:

R O U N D 6

[Special thanks to Natto for graciously allowing me to use their incredible artworks. Please support their amazing work by following them on Instagram: @yattapan. Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you! I hope you enjoy this!]

The stage was dimly lit, the harsh spotlight casting long shadows across the stage. The crowd’s noise had faded into a low hum, like a distant storm that threatened to break at any moment. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, but Aventurine was numb to it all. His usual flamboyance, his mischievous grin, and the gleam in his eyes—those were gone. The man standing on the stage now was a shell of what he had been, his once vibrant persona buried under the weight of exhaustion and sorrow.

Aventurine stood center stage, his posture slumped, a stark contrast to the usual calculated, confident air he used to project. His hand gripped the microphone, but his fingers were tight around it, as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. He was clad in black clothing, an ensemble that matched the dark emptiness swirling inside him. His eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now hollow, distant, staring at nothing in particular.

‘Where are you, [Name]?’ He thought, the weight of their absence like a heavy stone pressing down on his chest. ‘Why did you have to leave me?’

The music began to swell, but it didn’t stir him the way it once did. His voice, when it finally came, was quiet at first—a murmur lost in the sea of noise. But as the lyrics flowed from his lips, they carried an emotional depth that seemed to shake even the hardened audience.

“Allow me, to the tips of your fingers

Allow me, to the ends of your feet

Dissolve me in your gaze

I don’t want to let you go”

Each note was a whisper of his heart’s agony. There was no passion, no fire behind the words anymore—just the emptiness of a man who had lost everything. The song was no longer a performance; it was a cry. His voice cracked once, but he pushed through, forcing the words out even though they felt like daggers scraping the inside of his throat.

The lights above him flickered, casting shifting shadows across the stage. But the audience—those cruel, apathetic spectators—didn’t care. They watched with eager, unblinking eyes, but Aventurine saw nothing but their hollow faces, staring like vultures at something already dead. He was dying inside. His soul was withering.

Aventurine’s voice faltered as the lyrics continued to pour out of him, desperate, raw, as though he was trying to will himself to feel something—anything.

“Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that

Not a single drop of me remains

Let me drown in you”

His voice trembled on the final note, but he didn’t stop. Instead, it grew more intense, a plea laced with anguish, his throat raw from the pain of each word. The crowd’s cheers seemed distant, unimportant. As the words left his mouth, his mind spiraled, and everything around him began to blur.

The sounds of the audience faded, and Aventurine found himself no longer on the stage, but in a cold, sterile room—distant, isolating, suffocating. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was standing in front of a long table, a group of faceless figures dressed in dark suits sitting behind it. Their expressions were unreadable, but the weight of their gaze was heavy. They were the ###—the ones who had brought him into this sick game. They were the ones holding his life by a string, dictating the terms of his survival. The same ones who had made him promise everything—his soul, his loyalty—if he won.

Aventurine’s hands were shackled to the chair in front of him, his body tense, awaiting whatever came next. His heart raced as they pushed him, trying to force an answer from him about the deal—questions he didn’t have answers to. His mind was scattered, chaotic, filled with one burning question: Where is [Name]?

One of the figures slammed a file onto the table in front of him. It was a newspaper clipping, and at the top in bold letters, the word “ＭＩＳＳＩＮＧ” was stamped across [Name]’s profile. His heart dropped, and his stomach twisted into knots.

His pulse pounded In his ears as he stared at the image. There they were, the one person he had trusted, the only one who had shown him true kindness, now lost.

Aventurine’s vision blurred. He had no idea where they were. Had they died? Had they left him behind, abandoned him so easily after everything they had been through? The questions gnawed at him, but none of them brought any answers. Only emptiness.

‘Did I mean nothing to them?’

The words felt like chains, tighter with every thought, as though the walls around him were closing in, suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. His mind raced to try to piece together the puzzle, but the more he thought, the more frantic he became.

Suddenly, one of the figures—too close, too invasive—grabbed the back of his head, forcing him down toward the table. His face scraped the cold surface as the pressure of the hands on his hair grew.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the newspaper clipping slide closer to his face. He couldn’t get away from it. He couldn’t escape the sight of [Name]’s profile—lost, missing, slipping through his fingers like sand.

The world felt too small. He felt too small.

A flash of white-hot fury ignited within him. His heart pounded in his chest like a drumbeat, loud and unyielding. His body moved before his mind could catch up, his fist crashing into the face of the man who had pushed him down. The force of the punch sent the person sprawling backward, momentarily stunned. The clatter of a chair hitting the ground rang in his ears, and the smell of blood filled the air.

The memory shattered, and Aventurine gasped, back on the stage, the spotlight burning his skin. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his pulse erratic, heart racing as if it would burst from his chest. His fist was still raised in the air, knuckles white, as if he had never stopped fighting.

“Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time

On your icy lips

Read my soul

Yes, my soul”

Aventurine continued, his voice trembling with something more than just sorrow—rage, desperation, confusion, all woven together in the melody. His voice cracked again, the strain too much, but he pushed on, clinging to the song as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to his fragile reality.

The audience was silent, watching, waiting for him to fall apart completely, but the man they saw on stage was not the same one who had entered. The flamboyant, carefree strategist was gone. In his place stood someone raw, exposed, and vulnerable—someone who had given too much and lost too much to ever smile again.

Aventurine continued singing, lost in the rhythm of the melody, completely unaware of the storm of emotions unfolding beside him. His voice rang out into the air, each note a desperate plea, but he was distant, trapped in his own thoughts, disconnected from everything around him.

The spotlight shifted, Ratio stepped onto the stage, his presence shifting the air like a cold breeze. He moved with deliberate grace, his white suit gleaming under the stage lights. It was almost too pristine, as if he were stepping into a wedding, an unspoken irony in the starkness of his attire amidst the chaotic tension of the contest. He grabbed the microphone, his fingers brushing it lightly as his gaze drifted toward Aventurine.

Aventurine stood motionless, the hollow look in his eyes betraying the storm within him. He appeared to have given up—like a man who had lost everything, as if the very air around him was a reminder of someone who was gone. His emotions were shut off, the vulnerability once so raw now replaced by an empty stillness.

Ratio took a deep breath before he began to sing, his voice smooth and controlled, though the weight of the lyrics cut through him like a blade. His eyes never left Aventurine, watching as the other man stood frozen in place, his thoughts clearly lost in the past, in someone who was no longer there.

“Even if your cold words

Carve scars beneath my eyes

May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart”

The haunting melody filled the space, but Ratio couldn’t focus on the performance itself. His thoughts were elsewhere, taking him back to memories of the moments they had shared—moments that now seemed as distant as the stars.

The world of the contest, the games that had driven them all to the edge of madness, was one of cruelty and manipulation. But there were moments, fleeting and fragile, where there was kindness—moments where Ratio and Aventurine had found each other amidst the chaos.

Ratio remembered the time just before the show began, when they had shared a quiet conversation backstage. Aventurine had been quiet, more so than usual, as if the weight of the competition had finally broken him. Ratio had tried to reach out to him, to find some way to keep him grounded.

“Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I’ll drown in you”

But even then, Aventurine’s thoughts were clouded with something else—someone else. [Name]. The one who had stolen his heart, the one who had always been there to pull him from the edge when he faltered. Ratio could see it now, that deep ache in Aventurine’s eyes, the unspoken question that had plagued him since the moment they were torn apart.

It was the same unspoken question that Ratio had tried to answer himself when he had found a way out—an escape from this cursed contest. They had nearly made it, nearly freed themselves from the grip of the game, but at the last moment, Aventurine had faltered. He had chosen to leave Ratio behind in the pursuit of [Name], to go back to a place where he could never leave things undone, even if it meant abandoning his only ally.

Under the moonlight, near a secret passage where other contestants had found their way out, Ratio stood watching Aventurine. He could see the resolve in his eyes, but it was torn. He was a man caught between two impossible choices: the friend who had stood by him and the person he couldn’t leave behind, even if it meant his own freedom.

Aventurine had walked back, taking those last few steps toward the uncertainty of the contest, leaving Ratio standing there with a bittersweet smile, knowing that his friend would never truly be free until he could reunite with [Name]. The sting of that moment lingered, the taste of abandonment still fresh, even now.

“Sick of these nights to come

To be engulfed in silence

In your gaze where I’m seen

Consume me

Yes, me, oh oh”

Ratio’s voice cracked slightly on the final line, a hint of emotion breaking through his otherwise controlled façade. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of their shared history, the sacrifices they had made for each other, and yet the unbearable truth that some wounds would never heal.

He had seen the toll this contest had taken on his friend, and he knew the battle wasn’t over yet. But in that moment, Ratio understood. Aventurine couldn’t leave [Name] behind, not now, not after everything they had been through together.

“To this everlasting melody”

Meanwhile, Ratio’s voice blended with his, but his attention was no longer on the performance. His eyes drifted toward Aventurine, watching him with a depth of feeling that he couldn’t articulate. He saw his friend’s weariness, the faintest hints of defeat in his posture, and his heart ached for him.

“Face to face we dance”

But then, Ratio’s attention snapped back to the stage as he realized something. Aventurine had stopped singing.

The silence in the air was sharp, thick with tension. He could hear the low hum of the audience, the murmur of uncertainty spreading as Aventurine stood frozen. The rules were clear: failure to continue meant disqualification. The moment was slipping away from him.

“With our story

Lost in forever’s embrace

Until these falling stars

Are buried in the blur of time.”

Ratio’s mind raced, his thoughts tumbling over one another. This was the moment—the moment he had to make a decision. A doctor of truth, he knew the consequences of his actions, but right now, his only concern was the gambler in front of him. Aventurine would never forgive himself if he failed here, and Ratio couldn’t let him face that.

Without another thought, Ratio dropped his mic onto the stage, the clatter of it fading into the silence. He stepped toward Aventurine, whose eyes were glazed over, unaware of the imminent danger. The weight of his decision pressed on Ratio’s chest, but there was no turning back now.

The rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier, as if the world itself mourned the coming sacrifice. The droplets cascaded around them, a curtain of water, but all Ratio could see was his friend.

Aventurine lifted his gaze slowly, meeting Ratio’s eyes with an expression that was too tired, too distant, to fully comprehend why Ratio was standing so close now.

Ratio’s steps were steady as he reached Aventurine, his hand moving to gently cup his friend’s neck. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper against the damp air.

“Take care of yourself, Gambler. Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

Before Aventurine could react, before he could even respond, Ratio’s grip tightened. His fingers dug into Aventurine’s neck—not with the intent to choke him, but to send him into unconsciousness. To ensure he wouldn’t see what Ratio was about to do, the sacrifice he was making.

But to the audience, it was a different story.

The moment Ratio’s hands moved, the security team took action, weapons raised. They had been watching, ready to intervene. Violence was strictly prohibited, and it was clear that Ratio had broken the rules. He would be executed for this.

Still, Ratio didn’t flinch. He didn’t fight. The shots came fast, the sound of gunfire cutting through the tense silence. His body jerked with each bullet that struck him, but it wasn’t until the fatal shot, aimed at a vital artery, that he stumbled, blood pouring from his mouth. His vision blurred, but he managed to glance up at the screen.

Aventurine’s scores were climbing. The crowd roared, oblivious to the price Ratio had paid for it.

His eyes locked with Aventurine’s one final time, and Ratio smiled—bitter, resigned, but sincere. The world seemed to slow as he released his hold on Aventurine’s neck, letting his friend slip from his grasp.

Ratio crumpled to the ground, lifeless, blood staining the stage beneath him. His body became a dark pool of crimson, the contrast to Aventurine’s still form standing in disbelief.

The music beat dropped, filling the space, but it felt like the entire world had stilled, as if the stage itself was mourning the loss.

Aventurine stood frozen, staring down at Ratio’s body, his fingers pressing against his neck in disbelief. His mind couldn’t process it—their shared history, the bond they had formed, had been shattered in a moment. Ratio was gone.

The black-and-white contrast between them was undeniable. Ratio’s pure white suit now stained with the blood that had once belonged to him. Aventurine’s own darkness, his own guilt and despair, a stark reflection of the sacrifice Ratio had made for him.

The stage, the contest, the audience—they all blurred away in that moment. There was nothing left but the realization that everything had changed.

But little did anyone know, amidst the chaos and the tragedy that had unfolded on that stage, [Name] was still alive and was back now.

They had made it, against all odds, and now they stood just outside the chaotic scene, their eyes fixed on the aftermath of the deadly contest. The silence hung in the air, but [Name] could feel the weight of the moment—the deaths, the sacrifices, the choices made in the name of survival.

They were here to rescue their friends, to end this madness once and for all. But unlike before, [Name] wasn’t alone this time. They had a new group with them, a new force, even if it came with complications. The Stellaron Hunters—each one with their own agenda, their own reasons for standing in the shadows—were now part of their cause.

With the Stellaron Hunters behind them, and their newfound strength, [Name] stepped forward into the fray. The world ahead of them was uncertain, but they would make sure it was their future, not the one dictated by fate or fear.

It was time to rewrite the story.

(@thijikoy on X/Twitter)

Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you!

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