Start as a Spiritual Planter: I Have a Game Panel

"I'm going out." After some pondering, Ram turned to Korrin and Nyra.

"Korrin, you stay here and continue training the new Half-Drows. Nyra, I need you to go inform Mai and the others."

Nyra nodded, her crimson eyes serious. "What should I tell them, Master?"

"Tell them I have a lead and I'm following it, " Ram said, his voice even.

"Tell them about Shane, also don't forget to tell them not to worry about me, and stick to the plan for the festival. I'll contact them when I know more."

He then sent Nyra out of the Sylvan Space to inform Mai and others.

Leaving Korrin to train the half-Drows, he then planned to visit the Zero Point Arena to meet Shane directly as Kain.

He knew the risks were high, but it was his most direct path to the heart of the Blood Hawk Gang.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward.

The familiar, unsettling sensation of his body shifting began.

His bones groaned and his muscles stretched, reshaping themselves into the larger, more brutish frame of Kain.

He practiced Kain's gruff voice in his mind, the fearful stutter he had when speaking to Shane, the way he'd avoided direct eye contact.

According to Kain's memory, he seemed to be very scared of Shane.

Ram knew he had to act like Kain. The slightest mistake could mean he might be exposed or raise suspicion.

With a final mental command, he teleported, the quiet greenery of his Sylvan Space dissolving into the middle of the chaotic, neon-soaked Cyber Core District.

He reappeared in a marked position a few blocks from the Zero Point Arena, with the distant roar of the crowd already a dull thud in the air.

As he walked, he adopted Kain's heavy, confident stride, pushing past low-level thugs who quickly scrambled out of his way.

He reached the massive, gaping entrance of the arena.

Lasers sliced through thick cigar smoke, illuminating the roaring crowds and the blood-stained sand of the fighting pits below.

He spotted one of the low-ranking Blood Hawks members near a betting terminal.

Ram clapped a heavy hand on the man's shoulder.

"Where's the boss?" he growled, his voice a perfect imitation of Kain's.

The thug jumped, spinning around. His eyes widened in shock. "C-Captain Kain? You're… still alive?"

"Fucking asshole, what do you mean still alive?" Ram grunted. "Now, where is he?"

"In his private box, Captain!" the thug stammered, pointing a trembling finger upwards.

Ram shoved past him without another word and made his way to the private elevators.

Inside the plush, sound-dampened box, he found Shane leaning against the panoramic window, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, watching a fight below.

Ram was cautious when meeting Shane, acting just like how Kain would speak with him, so as not to raise doubts.

He took a deep breath, summoned all the fear he could from Kain's memories, and stepped into the room.

"Boss," he said, his voice rough and slightly shaky. He dropped to one knee, keeping his head bowed.

Shane turned slowly, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

"Kain," he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "I was beginning to think I'd have to promote someone else."

"I was captured, Boss," Ram said, not daring to look up.

"Those freaks in the cloaks… the Half-Drows. They took me. Tortured me for information." He made sure to add a tremor to his voice. "I barely escaped."

Shane walked over, circling him like a predator. Ram could feel his cold gaze on him. "And what information did you give them?"

"Nothing, Boss! I swear," Ram said, forcing panic into his tone. "They worked me over good, but I didn't crack."

"However… I found where they were hiding."

"Although they might not be staying there anymore… I found this…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the data slate he had taken from Kain's locker, filled with some data he had gotten from Nyra.

"They were careless. I grabbed this before I made a run for it. It's got their patrol routes, hideouts… everything."

He held it up, his hand shaking just enough to be convincing.

Shane took the slate, his eyes scanning the contents briefly. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," he said, the anger in his voice softening into something more like satisfaction. "So, you're not entirely useless after all."

He tossed the slate onto a nearby table. "I'll ask someone to check on this. Go get yourself cleaned up. Report to Marcos. You did good, Kain. It's good to have you back."

Ram kept his head down. "Thank you, Boss."

He rose slowly and backed out of the room, not turning his back on Shane until the door clicked shut behind him.

In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

The first test was over. He was in.

He needed to follow Shane and keep a close eye on him for the next few days, but he couldn't just linger outside the boss's door like a lost puppy.

He then used Kain's Sky Drive and called Marcos to report back. The call connected immediately, with a holographic screen projecting in front of him, with Marcos on it.

"The boss wants me back on duty," Ram grunted, forcing Kain's typical resentment into his voice as soon as the call got connected. "Told me to report to you. So I called you. What do you need?"

"All the patrols and shipment deliveries are handled by me." Marcos's eye twitched with annoyance. "Since you're so eager to be useful, you can stand guard outside the boss's box at the arena."

"He's staying there for the duration of the entire festival. Make sure no one bothers him." He waved a dismissive hand. "Now get out of my sight. I have work to do."

It was the perfect dismissal. Ram gave a curt, disrespectful nod that was pure Kain and ended the call.

He then kept a closer eye on Shane by stationing himself outside the private box, a loyal guard in appearance, a patient predator in reality.

As he was free, he shifted his focus onto the arena.

Two days passed by soon and…

It was the first day of the Harvest Festival, and the place was electric with a feverish energy.

As the center of the Harvest Festival, the arena was filled with all kinds of people, a chaotic soup of good, bad, rich, and poor.

High-level corporate executives in tailored suits watched from behind the armored glass of their luxury boxes, placing bets on holoscreens with a flick of their wrists.

Below them, gangsters with weapons barely concealed under their expensive jackets mingled with desperate street fighters looking to make a name for themselves.

The festival had turned the arena into more than just a fighting pit; it was a sprawling black market and a grotesque circus.

Merchants in brightly lit stalls sold everything from illegal combat stimulants and rare monster parts to hacked military-grade cyberware.

Ram watched as a fighter, his muscles twitching unnaturally, injected a glowing green liquid into his neck before heading towards one of the smaller fighting cages.

Some came for the fighting, but many came for entertainment.

In one corner, a freak show displayed mutated creatures captured, their twisted forms drawing gasps and cries from onlookers.

In the lower levels, high-stakes gambling dens buzzed with activity, the sharp clicks of betting chips and hushed murmurs of high-rollers hidden from the main floor's chaos.

Pleasure-bots and women dressed in sexy uniforms glided through the crowds, offering their services to anyone with enough credits to spare.

As time ticked to 11, a deep, electronic chime echoed through the Zero Point Arena, a sound so powerful it seemed to vibrate in the very air.

In an instant, the chaotic noise of the arena died down suddenly.

The roar of the crowd was sliced off mid-cheer, the thumping music from the stalls sputtered into silence, and even the flashing holographic ads froze, their bright colors dimming to a respectful low glow.

A heavy, expectant quiet fell over the massive space.

From the main entrance tunnel, the procession began.

First came a group of humans, dressed in different monster costumes and makeup.

They weren't wearing simple masks and fur; their outfits were alive with technology.

Holographic projectors mounted on their shoulders cast shimmering, shifting illusions around them.

One looked like a hulking Gray Wolf with phantom fur, another a creature with crackling, electric wings.

They came dancing, their movements wild and primal, a strange mix of ancient tribal steps and unnaturally fluid twists made possible by subtle cybernetics.

They stomped and writhed, a chaotic celebration of the beasts they mimicked.

Following them was another group, a stark contrast in every way.

Knights, more than a hundred of them, marched in perfect, unnerving synchronization.

They were wearing sleek, silver armors that looked like polished, liquid chrome, rippling with a faint energy field.

They didn't carry swords; instead, each held a sophisticated pulse rifle at a perfect, ceremonial angle.

Their boots clicked against the arena floor with a single, unified rhythm, a sound that was both impressive and intimidating.

Last came the priests.

There were maybe fifty of them, and they moved with a slow, deliberate glide that was deeply unsettling.

They were dressed in full-length black robes, but the fabric was woven with what looked like fiber-optic threads, which glowed with a faint, deep-purple light.

Their faces were hidden, not by hoods, but by smooth, featureless chrome masks that reflected the arena's dimmed lights, rendering them completely anonymous.

As they moved, a low, rhythmic chant began to fill the silence.

It wasn't just their voices; it was a deep, resonant hum that seemed to come from everywhere at once, amplified by hidden speakers in their robes.