I'm an Extra, so What?

The rules were simple—at least on paper.

A massive circular platform floated high above a shimmering gorge, conjured by elven mages and held together by layers of temporary magic.

Every thirty seconds, chunks of the platform would disappear—at first at the edges, then increasingly at random.

Four contestants.

Two teams.

One goal: be the last team standing.

The only way off was to fall—or be thrown.

Spectators watched from enchanted viewing platforms circling the air.

Excitement hummed in the air, especially after the announcement:

"Next round: Team Human—Arthur the fighter and Luka the ranger—versus Team Elf—Eledrin the fighter and Eldrin the mage!"

Arthur, a smug grin.

"This is it," Arthur muttered, "Redemption."

Luka, standing beside him at the launch point, gave him a sidelong glance:

"You mean after the bee incident? Or the bunny incident? Or the ten incidents before that?"

Arthur didn't answer.

He was already psyching himself up, flexing and smirking and doing little air-punches like he was auditioning for a play about narcissists.

Luka just sighed. "Don't get in my way."

Arthur grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."

That was, of course, a lie.

The whistle blew, and the four competitors were launched onto the crumbling platform.

A disk of glowing stone the size of a small courtyard floated in midair.

Wind whistled around it, and the magical structure shimmered beneath their feet like a barely stable puzzle.

The four landed at the corners, crouched in tense readiness.

Luka's eyes flicked across the platform—its surface was marked with faint lines, probably indicating sections that would vanish soon.

Smart.

Predictable at first.

But that would change fast.

Eledrin cracked his knuckles and stepped forward with a wolfish grin.

Eldrin held a polished black staff and murmured a soft incantation, runes glowing along its shaft.

Arthur drew his sword with a theatrical spin. "Alright, let's make this interesting!"

"Don't," Luka said, knocking an arrow and already calculating trajectories.

And then the first chunk of the platform vanished.

A loud pop!

A five-foot section at the edge simply blinked out of existence, revealing the ground below.

Wind rushed upward through the hole.

Arthur didn't even notice.

Eledrin came in first—fast and low, his twin daggers flashing.

Luka loosed an arrow and forced him to dodge left, where Arthur should have intercepted him.

Instead, Arthur stepped back.

Luka raised a brow. 'Odd'.

It looked deliberate.

Luka didn't say anything.

Yet.

They danced around each other—dodging, darting, testing.

Eldrin conjured glowing walls of force to block arrows, while Eledrin pressed hard with blade strikes.

Luka noticed Arthur was never quite in position.

Always too slow to intercept.

Always stepping a little wide or swinging a fraction too late.

Then Arthur "accidentally" shoulder-checked Luka in the middle of a dodge.

"Watch it," Luka said flatly.

"Slipped," Arthur replied with faux innocence. "Platform's shaky."

More pieces began to vanish.

A square near Luka vanished with a whump, and he backflipped over the gap with practiced ease.

Arthur, again, staggered clumsily, nearly bumping into him again.

Then Luka saw it—the glint in Arthur's eye when he thought no one was watching. A little smirk.

'Ah. So that's how it was going to be.'

Arthur wasn't here to win.

He was here to watch Luka lose.

Luka sighed through his nose, shifted his grip on his bow, and said nothing. No warning. No threat. Just an adjustment in expectations.

Ten minutes in, the platform looked like a chunk of Swiss cheese.

Sections were missing at random now.

The pace had picked up. Cracks snaked across the surface between pulses, and footing became treacherous.

Eledrin stayed quick and agile, using gaps to corner Luka while Arthur... drifted.

More than once, Arthur "missed" intercepting a spell from Eldrin that slammed near Luka's feet.

His responses to Eledrin's attacks were always just a breath too slow—except when Eldrin or Eledrin went for Arthur directly. Then he suddenly moved like lightning.

Luka couldn't even be bothered to get mad.

He was tired.

Tired of Arthur.

Tired of pretending the guy had any idea what teamwork meant.

So he played along.

Quietly. Gracefully.

Eledrin came at him again, and Luka dropped into a low roll beneath a flaming arc of magic. He fired off two shots at Eldrin—one to break concentration, the other to force him to duck.

Arthur lunged toward Eledrin—and "tripped," shoving Luka sideways into a gap in the platform.

Luka caught the edge with one hand, swung back up with the other, and stared at Arthur.

Arthur gave him a sheepish shrug. "Slippery spot."

"Right," Luka muttered. "Very slippery."

Then came the final third.

Now the platform wasn't just crumbling—it was angry.

It hissed and buckled.

Entire slabs spun in the air before disintegrating.

Eledrin narrowly avoided a chunk that flew off like a discus.

Arthur was yelling something about holding formation, but Luka wasn't listening anymore.

He had stopped caring.

He ducked a sweeping arc of wind from Eldrin, sidestepped Eledrin's blade, and pivoted—

—and "accidentally" elbowed Arthur in the gut.

Arthur gasped, doubling over.

"Oops," Luka said, deadpan. "Platform's slippery."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Eldrin sent out a shockwave that cracked a third of the remaining platform. Luka dove through the blast, loosed another arrow to force them back, and glanced at Arthur.

He was circling behind Luka now. Trying to look subtle. Hands twitching. Waiting for a moment.

'There it is,' Luka thought.

Arthur lunged, clearly aiming to bump him toward a vanishing edge.

Luka sidestepped at the last second.

And Arthur nearly pitched himself off.

Only Luka's hand, shooting out at the last moment, caught his collar.

Arthur blinked.

Then Luka gave him the calmest smile.

And let go.

Arthur yelped as he fell, limbs flailing in midair, disappearing beneath the edge.

A heartbeat later, Luka made a show of stumbling and "slipping," stepping backward into a crumbling section.

He fell, relaxed and quiet, with a faint eye-roll.

And that was it.

Team Human—eliminated.

The crowd broke into laughter and scattered applause.

On the remaining platform, Eledrin offered a casual bow. Eldrin didn't even look tired.

Up in the viewing stand, Serene covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Gregor gave Luka a slow, almost impressed nod from a distance.

Arthur stormed off to the edge of the benches, arms folded, face burning with rage.

Luka landed lightly a moment later, brushing off dust and adjusting his cloak like nothing had happened.

Arthur whirled on him. "You pushed me!"

"You tried to push me first," Luka replied calmly.

"That was strategy!"

Luka gave him a long look. "No. That was desperation wrapped in ego pretending to be strategy."

Arthur's mouth opened—then closed.

He had nothing.

So instead, he turned and kicked a bucket of water.

It splashed harmlessly on the ground.

Serene approached with quiet steps, a folded cloth in one hand, and a slight frown tugging at her usually composed expression.

She stopped in front of him, lips pursed. "You let him push you."

"I didn't let him," Luka replied without opening his eyes. "He just failed."

"You know what I mean," she said, her voice sharper than usual. "He tried to sabotage you the entire match. I saw it. Everyone saw it. You could've called for intervention, or protested—"

He opened one eye and looked at her. "Why would I bother?"

"Because it wasn't fair."

"It's Arthur," Luka said simply. "Fairness doesn't factor into anything he does. He was going to try something, and I let him. I got annoyed and made a decision. That's all."

Serene's brows drew together. "You shouldn't have to keep carrying his weight. Or dealing with his tantrums."

"I'm not carrying anything anymore," Luka said, sitting upright and standing. "Let him spiral. The Showdown's almost over."

There was a pause between them. Serene watched him quietly, then said, "You're really not angry."

He gave her a tired smile.

"I ran out of anger three events ago. Just one more match. Then we're done."

Serene tilted her head. "And then?"

"I don't know," Luka said. "But whatever it is... I hope Arthur isn't involved."

She smiled at that—soft and a little sad. "Me too."

They didn't say anything else after that.

.

.

.

Nuvian set her waterbottle down and spoke, her voice languid but sharp:

"It seems the humans are doing our work for us."

Eledrin, leaning against a pillar nearby, snorted:

"That last match was a disaster. Arthur—he practically shoved his own teammate off."

Another let out a dry chuckle. "If we gave him a sword and told him to guard a tree, he'd stab the bark out of spite."

Ardyn who'd gone toe-to-toe with Luka earlier, smirked as he tossed a grape into the air and caught it:

"And then he'd blame the forest for not being impressed."

Eldrin, ever the quiet one, gave a small nod. "Luka held his ground well. But even a solid foundation collapses if you build rot on top of it."

"That rot," Nuvian said, her tone pure silk, "seems to be named Arthur."

The group chuckled—quiet, refined, but unmistakably amused.

"And yet he tries so hard to impress you," Eledrin added with a grin. "It's almost poetic. Tragic, but poetic."

Nuvian tilted her head slightly, as though considering a bug beneath her:

"He's not trying to impress me. He's trying to convince himself he matters. The louder he talks, the less substance there is underneath."

Vaelor nodded. "If this is the best the humans have to offer, our victory is inevitable."

"Almost disappointing," Ardyn said, lounging back with a dramatic sigh:

"I was promised a grand contest. Rivalry. Intrigue. Instead I get a front-row seat to an implosion."

Nuvian lifted her waterbottle once more:

"Let them crumble. All we must do now… is stand and watch."