From Useless Dud To The Alpha's Queen

The Ascension Trials were imminent-the absolute only chance for their squad to leave this decaying planet and enter the vast, elite sea of stars. And Alana, the only 'Dud' conduit in the squad who couldn't summon an Eidolon, was bearing all the crushing pressure.

In this world, women held absolute power. They ruled the cities, commanded the armies, and took multiple husbands as a sign of status. Men existed to serve-as warriors, laborers, or consorts. A woman without an Eidolon was a disgrace; a man without a squad was worthless. But Alana, born female, had failed twelve summoning attempts. In the eyes of society, she was less than nothing.

Alana stared at the holographic tactical board. The blue light flickered, stuttering as the outdated processor struggled to render the terrain of the upcoming Ascension Trials. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, rubbing her temples until dull pain bloomed beneath her skin.

The heavy metal door of the underground tactics room slammed open.

A gust of cold, damp air rushed in. Cash Patterson strode into the cramped space, his heavy combat boots thudding against the grated floor. He didn't say a word. He just raised his right hand and slammed a thick, gold-embossed paper contract onto Alana's console.

Dust exploded from the impact, catching in Alana's throat. She coughed, her chest tightening, and picked up the heavy parchment.

Her eyes scanned the bold lettering at the top. It was a "Deep Sponsorship" agreement from Chet Wolfe, the heir to one of the most ruthless corporate conglomerates in Zenith City. Below it sat a list of high-tier gear that could easily guarantee their squad a flawless victory.

Then, she flipped to the second page.

Her eyes stopped on a single, highlighted paragraph. Clause 4: Full-time private companionship and physiological comfort to be provided by the squad's Conduit, Alana Nicholson.

The air in her lungs vanished. A cold, heavy stone dropped directly into her stomach, pulling her organs down with a sickening lurch. Her pupils dilated. The words blurred, replaced by the memory of Chet's greasy, lingering stares and his sweaty hands. Chet already had three wives and nine consorts, but men of his wealth could never have enough. He wanted her as another ornament-a female broken and tamed.

She snapped her head up. She stared at Cash, her fingers trembling so violently the thick paper rattled.

"You want me to sign this?" she asked, her voice a raw scrape.

Cash pulled a silver lighter from his pocket. He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and blew a cloud of gray smoke directly into her face.

"Sign it," Cash said, his tone flat, as if he were asking her to pass the salt.

Alana threw the contract. The heavy pages hit Cash square in the chest and scattered across the dirty floor like dead leaves.

"No," she spat.

Cash's face darkened. The casual arrogance melted into something ugly. He took a heavy step forward, closing the distance between them. He used his six-foot-two frame to box her against the console, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light.

In a proper matriarchal order, a man would never dare raise his voice to a woman. But Alana had lost her status. She was a Dud-and Duds, regardless of gender, were lower than breeding males. Cash knew this. He leaned on it.

"Listen to me, you useless bitch," Cash growled, his voice vibrating in her chest. "If we fail the Ascension Trials next month, we lose our funding. You know what happens to a Conduit without a squad? They strip your rank and throw you into the civilian breeding program. You'll spend the rest of your life on your back anyway."

She knew exactly what that meant. In a society where women could take multiple husbands, the breeding centers were the ultimate punishment-a female reduced to a passive vessel, stripped of her right to choose, forced to bear children for men who had no claim to her. It was worse than death.

Alana locked her jaw. Her teeth ground together so hard a sharp pain shot up into her skull. She dug her fingernails into her palms until the skin nearly broke.

"My tactics are the only reason this squad survived the last three years," Alana fired back, her voice shaking with pure rage. "You wouldn't have made it past the first year without my routing."

Cash let out a sharp, barking laugh. He leaned in closer, the smell of stale tobacco and mint overwhelming her senses.

"Tactics?" he mocked. "You are a Dud. You can't even summon a basic Tier-F Eidolon. You're just window dressing, Alana. A liability. Sign the contract for the gear, or you are out of Dawnbreaker."

A sharp pain pierced Alana's chest, right behind her sternum. The betrayal was a physical ache, a knife twisting in her ribs. She thought of Chet's eyes. She thought of being locked in a corporate penthouse, treated as a piece of meat.

She straightened her spine. She tilted her chin up, forcing herself to meet Cash's furious gaze without blinking.

"Never." The word left her lips sharp and definitive.

Shock flickered in Cash's eyes, quickly swallowed by explosive rage. He spun around and slammed his fists onto the holographic tactical board.

The glass shattered. The blue projection died instantly, plunging the room into shadows. Sparks hissed and popped from the severed cables, casting erratic flashes of light across Cash's twisted face.

"You're done!" Cash roared, pointing a thick finger at the door. "You are officially removed from the roster. Get out!"

Alana swallowed the hard lump of acid rising in her throat. She turned away from him, her movements stiff and mechanical. She walked to her narrow metal locker, pulled the handle, and grabbed her worn, leather-bound tactical notebook. She pressed it tightly against her chest, feeling the solid weight of three years of her life.

Cash lunged forward, reaching for the notebook. "That belongs to the squad."

Alana twisted her torso, dodging his grasping hand.

"Don't touch my work," she warned, her voice dropping to a deadly, icy whisper.

Cash froze. For a fraction of a second, the sheer intensity in her eyes paralyzed him. His hand hovered in the air.

Alana didn't wait for him to recover. She turned on her heel and walked toward the exit. Her combat boots stepped directly onto the scattered pages of the Wolfe contract.

"You won't survive the month!" Cash screamed at her back.

Alana didn't look back. She pushed her weight against the heavy metal door and stepped out into the freezing, sterile hallway.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows on the linoleum floor. She gripped her notebook so tightly her knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white.

A sharp beep echoed from her wrist. Her comm-link flashed red.

System Notification: Squad privileges revoked.

Her stomach hollowed out, but the tears didn't come. Instead, a freezing, absolute resolve settled into her bones.

Alana walked down the long, sterile hallway, the echo of her own footsteps the only sound in her ears. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She reached the end of the corridor and stopped in front of the frosted glass door of the Dawnbreaker lounge.

She shoved the door open. The hinges shrieked, a high-pitched scrape of metal on metal.

The loud laughter inside died instantly. Three heads snapped toward her.

Dallin Gates, their fire mage, sat on the edge of the desk. He was tossing a new, crimson-gemmed enhancement ring in the air. When he saw Alana, his eyes darted away, refusing to meet hers.

Jered Gibbs, the shadow assassin, slouched on the expensive leather sofa. He was filing his nails. He didn't even lift his chin, his face a mask of total indifference.

Charmaine Bass, their holy cleric, stood up. She smoothed the front of her pristine white robes and walked toward her, her face twisting into a mask of deep, fake sorrow.

Alana's eyes burned. She stared at the three people she had bled for.

"Did you all agree to Cash's filthy deal?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Dallin clicked his tongue in annoyance. He caught his ring and shoved it onto his finger. "Don't be so rigid, Alana. You're holding us back. We need that gear."

A bitter, humorless laugh tore from Alana's throat. She pointed a shaking finger straight at Dallin's face.

"Last month, you stepped out of formation in the Ash Rift," Alana snapped. "I burned my own mental energy to pull the aggro off you. I saved your life, Dallin."

Dallin's face flushed a dark, angry red. He jumped off the desk. A ball of orange flame ignited in his right palm, the heat radiating across the room.

Alana didn't flinch. She stared at the fire, her eyes dead. "You still can't even stabilize your temperature output. Pathetic."

"Enough," Jered said coldly. He paused his nail filing. "Chet is offering us silver-tier daggers. Sacrificing you is a good trade."

Alana whipped her head toward the sofa. "The blueprints for those daggers? I stayed awake for three days hacking the firewall to get you the specs."

Jered's hand jerked. The metal file slipped, slicing into his cuticle. A drop of blood welled up. Jered hissed, his eyes flashing with sudden irritation.

Charmaine sighed heavily. She reached out, trying to place a comforting hand on Alana's shoulder. "Alana, my child. You must understand the spirit of sacrifice for the greater good."

Bile rose in Alana's throat. She slapped Charmaine's hand away with a sharp smack.

"Don't touch me," she spat. "You use your holy magic to cover up the stench of your own selfishness. You're a hypocrite."

The lounge door opened again. Cash strolled in, a smug, satisfied smirk plastered across his face. He walked past Alana, treating her like empty air, and sat down in the large chair at the head of the table.

He tapped his knuckles against the glass surface. "Let's make this official. A democratic vote. All in favor of removing Alana Nicholson from Dawnbreaker, raise your hand."

Dallin shot his right hand into the air immediately, a vicious grin on his face.

Jered hesitated for a single second. Then, slowly, he raised his hand, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Charmaine closed her eyes, traced a holy cross over her chest, and raised her hand.

Three votes. Unanimous.

Alana stared at the three raised hands. A strange, suffocating pressure in her chest suddenly vanished. The tightness in her shoulders uncoiled. She let out a long, slow breath.

Her lips curled into a cold, sharp smile.

She reached up to the collar of her jacket. Her fingers closed around the silver Dawnbreaker badge. She ripped it off, the pin tearing a small hole in the fabric.

She raised her arm and slammed the heavy silver badge down onto the crystal coffee table.

Crack.

A jagged, spiderweb fracture exploded across the pristine glass surface. The sharp sound made all four of them jump. Cash's smug expression shattered, replaced by dark fury.

Alana swept her eyes over them one last time.

"You didn't kick me out," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I am abandoning you pieces of trash."

She turned around and walked out the door. She didn't look back.

"You're nothing without us!" Dallin screamed from inside.

Alana grabbed the heavy door handle and slammed it shut, cutting off his voice and sealing the toxic air inside.

Alana stepped into the elevator, jabbing the button for the administration floor. Her comm-link vibrated violently against her wrist. A red notification flashed: Access Denied. You have been removed from the Safehouse Security Grid.

She gritted her teeth, the muscles in her jaw jumping.

The elevator doors slid open. She marched down the plush, carpeted hallway and stopped in front of the heavy oak door belonging to Senior Advisor Reginald Kent. She knocked twice, hard.

"Enter," a bored voice called out.

Alana pushed the door open. Her boots sank into the expensive wool rug.

Kent sat behind a massive mahogany desk, casually sipping from a porcelain coffee cup. A holographic screen floated in front of him, displaying Alana's official squad termination report.

Alana planted both hands flat on the polished wood of his desk. "Sir, I need you to reject this termination. It's a malicious dismissal to force me into a corporate contract."

Kent set his cup down slowly. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, his eyes cold and condescending.

He swiped his finger through the air. Alana's academic transcript expanded in the space between them. He picked up a digital stylus and circled a specific line in glowing red ink.

Summoning Attempts: 12. Success Rate: 0%.

"Aegis Academy does not harbor dead weight, Miss Nicholson," Kent said, his voice dripping with disdain. "A Conduit without an Eidolon is a defective product."

"My tactical analysis scores are the highest in the entire sector!" Alana argued, her voice rising, her chest heaving with desperate breaths. "My mental micro-control is flawless!"

Kent let out a dry, mocking chuckle. He waved his hand, dismissing the hologram. "In the face of absolute power, tactics are garbage."

He opened his top drawer, pulled out a crisp, white document, and slid it across the desk toward her.

Alana looked down. The header read: Logistics & Breeding Track Transfer Application.

"Be realistic," Kent said, lacing his fingers together. "Your destiny is to serve the Concord by providing offspring. Go to the civilian breeding centers. It's where you belong."

Alana's blood ran cold. Her hand instinctively moved to the inner pocket of her jacket - the shard was still there. She could sell it, buy the forbidden ritual, force an Eidolon summon. But if anyone discovered she had stolen a piece of the academy's S‑tier testing monolith, she would be executed. No, worse - dissected. She clenched her jaw. Not yet. Not unless absolutely necessary.

A wave of pure, blinding heat washed over her face. 'The civilian breeding centers...' The words coiled around her heart like venomous snakes, squeezing the life from her. No. She would rather burn to ash in the fires of forbidden magic than be reduced to a state-sanctioned incubator. If they were so determined to destroy her, she would drag this entire corrupt system down into the abyss with her. A cold, terrifying clarity settled over her mind.

She snatched the paper off the desk.

Right in front of Kent's eyes, she gripped the edges and ripped the thick document in half. The sound of tearing paper was loud in the quiet office. She let the pieces flutter down onto his precious wool rug.

Kent's face turned purple. He slammed his palm onto the desk. "You ungrateful little brat!"

"I am not transferring," Alana shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. "I will form my own squad."

Kent looked at her like she had lost her mind. He laughed, a cruel, grating sound. "With what? You have no credits. You have no safehouse. You can't even summon a bottom-tier slime."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Here is your sentence. If you do not register a valid Eidolon before the Ascension Trials, you will be expelled. Immediately."

Alana stared at him. The fire in her chest burned away the last of her fear, leaving only a cold, hard determination.

She turned and walked out of the office.

She didn't stop until she found an abandoned janitor's closet at the end of the hall. She slipped inside, locked the door, and slid down the cold, tiled wall until she hit the floor.

She gasped for air, her lungs burning. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. She would not cry.

She activated her comm-link, switching it to maximum privacy mode. Her fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, bypassing the academy's firewalls, diving deep into the dark web databases.

She searched for anything. Any forbidden method to force a resonance connection.

Dozens of red warning pop-ups flooded her screen. She swiped them away until her eyes locked onto an ancient, fragmented file.

The Blood-Bound Resonance Matrix.

She read the translated text quickly. It required an excruciating physical toll and materials that were nearly impossible to find.

Her eyes dropped to the estimated cost of the materials. 1.22 Million Credits.

Her heart sank, a heavy weight pulling at her ribs. But then she read the final line of the description: Bypasses all talent barriers. Forcibly anchors a high-dimensional entity.

Alana closed the comm-link. She stood up and brushed the dust off her pants. Her eyes were no longer desperate. They were sharp, focused, and deadly.

She walked out of the closet and looked out the window at the dark, gathering storm clouds over Zenith City.

She pulled up her navigation app and set the destination. The underground black market.