CHAOS IN THE PITS

The air in the Pit Lobby vibrated with chaotic energy. Hundreds of players were shouting, laughing and clashing weapons, a symphony of anticipation and adrenaline. Asimil felt like a small paper boat in the middle of a raging ocean. Next to him, his dysfunctional team was a microcosm of that same chaos.

—  When I get my hands on that guardian, I'll turn him into gravel! — roared Ikel, slamming a flaming fist into his other palm.

— Try not to burn yourself in the process, you moron — Noelia replied with a snort, checking her magic reagents for the third time. Her gaze was cold, but Asimil noticed her fingers twitching with nervous tension.

Sacres, as always, remained in stoic silence, watching the crowd with eyes that seemed to see beyond the simple bustle. He placed a reassuring hand on Asimil's shoulder. — Ready? —

Asimil could only swallow saliva and nod. No, he was not ready. The ghost of his failure in the crystal caverns was a cold shadow clinging to his back. But the voice in his dream, the silent promise to himself, compelled him to go on.

«TELEPORTATION BEGINS IN 10... 9... 8...»

A soulless, metallic voice echoed throughout the hall. A giant teleportation circle in the center of the room began to glow with a bluish light. The teams grouped together, preparing for the jump.

— Stay together. Whatever happens — ordered Sacres.

« 3... 2... 1... STARTING EVENT »

The light enveloped them. But something went wrong. The familiar hum of teleportation was replaced by a high-pitched chirp, like that of a data file corrupting. The blue light flickered, and for a split second, it was tinged by streaks of sickly purple. Asimil felt a violent force not transporting him, but tearing him away from his companions. He saw the shocked faces of Ikel and Noelia fade into static before everything went black.

The landing was a thud against wet stone. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He coughed, the taste of dirt and mold filling his mouth. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, panic hit him with the force of a hammer.

He was alone.

He was in a narrow, claustrophobic tunnel, barely illuminated by streaks of phosphorescent moss crawling along the walls. The silence was total, deep, broken only by the constant dripping of water somewhere nearby. 

—  Sacres? Ikel? — his voice was a trembling whisper that the darkness devoured instantly.

The echo of their earlier failure returned with brutal force. He had lost them. He had failed. Again. His mind began to race, every shadow seemed like a monster, every trickle the footstep of an enemy. He stood, legs trembling, and unsheathed his dagger. He had to move, find his team. Prove he wasn't useless.

He managed to defeat a couple of crystal rats, basic monsters of the event, but each victory was clumsy and desperate, leaving him breathless. There was no sign of other players, no sign of his friends. Loneliness was a greater enemy than any beast.

That's when he felt it. An icy sensation on the back of his neck. The certainty of being watched.

He turned sharply. Nothing. Just the dancing shadows. He kept walking, faster this time. A metallic clang rang out. a black dagger dug into the wall a centimeter from his head. He ducked out of instinct, heart pounding. He looked around, frantic. No one was there.

—  Who's there? — he shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

Only a soft, mocking laugh answered him, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The cat and mouse game began. Asimil tried to advance through the labyrinth, but his invisible hunter prevented him from doing so. A rope stretched around his ankles caused him to fall flat on his face. A boulder falling from the ceiling almost crushed him. Ghostly arrows whistled by his ears, forcing him to retreat or hide.

— Give it up, rookie — whispered a voice in the darkness, so close that Asimil turned to punch the empty air. — You don't belong here. You're just cannon fodder for the entertainment of the strong. —

Paranoia was consuming him. Every shadow seemed to hide his tormentor. He began to run, directionless, blind with panic, just wanting to escape that voice, that presence. He took one detour, then another, until his feet slipped on the wet ground and he fell into a dead end. An alley with only one entrance, the same one he had just entered. And blocking it, a figure materialized from the shadows.

He was tall and slender, dressed in black leather armor that seemed to absorb the light. His face was hidden behind a smooth silver mask. He was a Spectro.

— Well, well. Look what the rat dragged into my trap. — he said in a soft, venomous voice, the same one he had been whispering in the dark. He held a stylized dark dagger in each hand. — It's been fun, but the game has become boring. Your desperation is delicious, but I've had my fill. —

Asimil crawled backwards until his back hit the cold wall of the alley. He was trapped. He looked at Spectro, his level far superior to his own, his equipment impeccable, his posture brimming with sadistic confidence.

All the courage he had mustered, all the hope the voice in his dream had given him, shattered. The memory of the gymnasium, of the crystal cavern, of every failure and every mockery of his forgotten life swirled in his mind.

They were right. Borin was right. His stalkers were right. He was a failure.

— It's time to end the game, little worm — said Spectro, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him.

Asimil dropped his dagger. The slight metallic sound echoed in the cave like a sentence. Fear, absolute and paralyzing, overcame him. There was no fight in him. There was no hope. Only bitter resignation.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow that would eliminate him, that would confirm what deep down he had always known: that no matter the world, no matter the opportunity, he would always be destined to be the prey, the joke, the failure.