Early a fine morning,
Joan decided to try her luck with the Divine Market again. She seem reluctant but she have to do some shopping. She could acquire the Shattered Ember rank kits and equipment from her system store but had other uses for her OM. Her 6 CC was enough to pick up some football kits or equipment or Grassborn Novice ranks for players and Netling ranks for goalkeepers.
The Divine Market stretched like a cathedral of starlight across the void. Floating platforms spun in and orbits of gold, silver, and obsidian, each one a trading hub where brokers hawked power like street vendors. Celestia Credits glimmered like coins of molten sunlight, Fate Shards hummed with possibility, Glory Bonds floated like contracts wrapped in flame. The Market was where ambition came to die—or ascend.
Joan entered alone. Her Eclipse Shadows crest flickered faintly against her breast, dwarfed by banners that bore sigils of clubs backed by gods and demigods. The Pantheon's traders recognized her instantly: the stubborn mortal. Oh! Yes, she was yet to get feedback from her stadium that will help her shred her mortality. The best of it all. She can also gift anyone such feedback helping them become gods or goddesses but there're always a catch.
"Joan Salvador," a broker with serpent scales for skin sneered, his tongue forked silver. "You refuse to sell. No transfers, no agents, no compromises. That is not how the Market works."
Another approached, a woman of glass bones who radiated whispers of contracts. "The Wolves offered you ninety Celestia Credits for Kai. The Talons, a hundred and twenty for Mila. You rejected both. Insolence."
A chorus of murmurs rippled through the stalls. Traders turned their backs, their wares snapping shut like clams. Boycott.
"Without us, you starve," hissed the serpent-broker. "No Glory Bonds, no Shards, no upgrades. Your club collapses in obscurity."
Joan didn't flinch. She placed her palm over her Obsidian Marks, and the hidden system answered with a pulse so strong it rattled the market's air. Invisible to all but her, matrices of shadow wove themselves into her perception—showing her supply chains, weaknesses in contracts, and hidden leverage.
"You believe you own me because you traffic in Credits," Joan said softly, voice carrying across the stalls. "But faith is currency. Loyalty, the coin. My squad bleeds shadows, not gold. You will see."
Laughter echoed. A titan-broker with obsidian horns slammed his ledger down. "Without our signatures, you cannot even repair your stadium."
At that moment, the system flared: [Hidden Upgrade: Autonomous Structure Growth Initiated]. Joan's investment in foundations had triggered exponential reinforcement. Training walls expanded without permits. Seating grew like crystal vines. Medical bays self-repaired. The Market still jeered unaware of the latest threads flickering across her holo-screens and then the notification was made to all Divine Soccer owners.
"Eclipse Shadows Stadium Expands Overnight—Unauthorised? Impossible!"
"Faith Surge Detected in Lower Divisions: Shadows Gathering Momentum."
Brokers turned from scorn to unease. If Joan's squad could grow without their hand, then what power did she wield?
A whisper began spreading, carried by nervous traders: system anomalies. Hidden patronage. Illegal cosmic interference.
The serpent-broker leaned close, his breath metallic. "You play a dangerous game. We could blacklist you. Ban you from the Market entirely."
Joan smiled, her eyes calm but blazing. "Then watch as my shadows eclipse your light. We will outlast your credits. And every match my squad plays will draw more fans, more CC, more loyalty. She will not let them know she got other currency — the OM. Boycott me, and you only accelerate my rise."
The Market trembled. The boycott began—but Joan walked away with her crest glowing stronger than ever, the system humming like a storm about to break.
The cosmic echoes faded as Joan returned home. Her mortal apartment felt small, fragile, grounded compared to the star-choked enormity of the Market. Yet as soon as she stepped inside, her brother Taren barreled into her arms, wide-eyed with excitement.
"Joan! Did you really refuse them? The Wolves, the Talons, all of them?"
"I did," she said, ruffling his hair. "They don't own me. They don't own Eclipse Shadows."
At the kitchen table, her mother sighed. Her eyes, warm but weary, flickered between pride and fear. "Joan, this 'club' of yours—these gods, these credits—it doesn't put food on the table. You're risking too much."
Her father, silent for long minutes, finally spoke. "What are you building, Joan? Really?"
Joan's gaze softened. "Not just a team. A sanctuary. A place where shadows aren't weakness, but strength. Where loyalty and faith mean more than contracts. I'm building a cathedral for dreamers."
Taren's voice was hushed with awe. "And... can we see it?"
The system pulsed. Joan extended her hand, weaving an illusion through her Obsidian Marks. The apartment shimmered, walls fading into transparent overlays of the growing Eclipse Shadows Stadium. Her family gasped.
They saw: Phased spectator wings, glowing like auroras. Gravity-tuned turf, shifting with cosmic balance. Training pitches where players moved faster, sharper, as though time itself bent for them.
Her mother touched the shimmering air, tears brimming. "It's... beautiful."
Her father's jaw tightened. "But dangerous."
"Yes," Joan admitted. "But every fan who cheers, every player who believes, feeds the system. Faith is my currency. And I will never trade it away."
Taren grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Then I'll believe. I'll cheer louder than anyone. I'll tell my friends. I'll start a chant."
Joan bent and kissed his forehead. "Then you're part of the squad already."
That night, as her family slept, Joan stood by the window. The stars outside pulsed like distant stadium lights. Her system whispered with new notifications: [Faith Resonance Detected: Mortal Anchor Strengthens Upgrades].
Her family's belief had become part of the equation. The Market had boycotted her, but the mortal hearth had ignited a deeper power.
The day of the match arrived. The Ironbreak Juniors, infamous for brutality, swaggered into Eclipse Shadows Stadium. Her team have experienced their rival brutality and won't fall for it again. Their captain, Bram "Ironjaw," sneered at the architecture. "Fragile. Like your squad."
But the stadium was alive. Fans thronged the phased wings, chanting in layered harmonics that reverberated like thunder. OM counters glowed in the air, rising with every cheer. Banners shimmered with cosmic light: SHADOWS RISE. LOYALTY IS FAITH.
The whistle split the air.
Minute 1–15.
The Juniors pressed hard, Ironjaw hammering into Darius with bone-cracking force. The crowd gasped—but the system pulsed, healing fractures faster than nature allowed. Darius rose, roaring, and the fans surged with faith. OM spiked.
Minute 16–30.
Mila danced through defenders, his dribbles amplified by the system's probability-bending whispers. Kai cut across the wing, sending a spiraled cross. Orion leapt—his header curved impossibly, striking the bar. The crowd groaned, then chanted louder, feeding more OM into Joan's reserves.
Minute 31.
Chaos Eclipse activated. Shadows thickened at the edge of the pitch, tilting luck by a fraction. Mila struck from twenty yards, the ball slipping past the keeper's fingertips. 1–0. The stadium erupted—cheers felt like an earthquake.
Minute 45.
Ironjaw struck back, battering through defenders to equalize. 1–1. The Juniors' fans jeered, hurling psychic taunts. Joan's jaw tightened, but the OM counter glowed steady. Her faith reserves pulsed.
Minute 46–70.
The match teetered. Rook's nose shattered in a brutal clash, but he refused to leave, loyalty binding him to the pitch. Each time he fought on, fans roared louder, pouring more OM into Joan's pool. System alert: [Morale Boost Triggered: Squad Endurance +12%].
Minute 71–89.
The Juniors pressed, hammering Zara with shot after shot. His gloves glowed faintly with the system's touch—he saved three in a row, each one driving the stadium into ecstasy. Rival commentators screamed across intergalactic feeds:
"Impossible saves! Mortal keeper, or is this hidden sorcery?"
"Eclipse Shadows refusing to bow. Something strange is happening."
Minute 90.
Final corner. Mila curved it high. Orion rose, his leap impossibly high, system threads tugging reality a fraction. His header thundered into the net. 2–1.
The stadium exploded. Fans sobbed, screamed, chanted. OM counters soared. Faith cascaded into the system, strengthening unseen upgrades. Rival scouts scribbled in panic; market traders whispered of anomalies.
When the whistle blew, Joan raised her crest. The boycott had failed. The Market would rage, rivals would sneer, but Eclipse Shadows had risen in defiance.
Joan whispering to herself, "Shadows don't beg for light. They grow until they eclipse it."