The light faded.
In its place came silence—vast, endless, almost deafening. When Alex blinked, the white void was gone. Replaced by a cavernous stone coliseum shrouded in gloom. Flickering torchlight danced across towering obsidian walls, revealing eerie carvings—twisted creatures, mutilated bodies, ancient runes that seemed to crawl when unobserved.
He stood not alone. Thousands of others—men, women, even teens—clad in mismatched clothes of every era and region. Some in robes, others in modern jackets or even armor. All of them looked just as disoriented, some crying, others shouting.
The air was thick with fear and confusion.
"What is this place?" someone yelled.
"Are we really dead?!" another cried.
Alex clutched his chest, still reeling from the sensation of falling endlessly. He turned in circles, searching for something—anything—familiar. That's when he noticed her.
Lysandra.
Her white hair made her stand out in the crowd. She wasn't calm—just composed. Her eyes darted around, taking in the setting like the rest, but she wore a mask of forced serenity.
"Hey!" Alex called out, weaving through panicked bodies to reach her. "You're... from the white void."
She nodded, hugging her arms tightly around herself. "Yeah. I remember you."
Her voice was quiet, trembling slightly. "Do you have any idea where we are?"
Alex shook his head. "No. But it feels... wrong. Like we're being watched."
From above, a massive booming sound echoed. Everyone froze. Then, a colossal figure materialized in the sky above the arena—its form shifting and ungraspable. It had no eyes, no face, just a writhing silhouette made of smoke and blood.
A voice entered every mind at once. Not heard, but felt—scraping like nails across the soul:
"Trial Initiated. Judgment Awaits."
Screams erupted. Some people ran to the walls, clawing at the stone. Others dropped to their knees in prayer or despair. Panic swept like wildfire.
Lysandra grabbed Alex's sleeve. "We need to stay calm."
"Do you know something?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No. But freaking out won't help. Look around."
A low grinding sound echoed through the arena.
From the far side, the stone floor began to split. Black mist hissed out as a massive iron gate slowly lifted. Darkness pooled from within like liquid smoke. A shriek came from the depths—not animal, not human. A sound so unnatural it made Alex's bones rattle.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Are we supposed to fight that?!" someone shouted.
A new voice, dry and ancient, echoed through the arena—this time from nowhere.
"Only the worthy shall proceed. Trial One: The Culling."
A blinding red light flashed above. Dozens of glowing runes ignited across the floor, forming a ring around the central pit.
Then the rules appeared, written in searing red glyphs that everyone could somehow understand:
— You may form alliances. — Only 20% will survive. — Survival requires action.
"Twenty percent?" Alex muttered, eyes wide.
A countdown appeared in the sky:
60...
Lysandra's face turned pale. "They're making us fight. Not just that... they want to watch us break."
59... 58...
The crowd surged, panic turning to violence. People began shoving, punching, scrambling away from the center.
Some were being trampled on.
Alex turned to Lysandra. "Stick with me."
She nodded. "You too. We'll figure something out."
Alex clenched his fists. He wasn't a fighter, wasn't strong. But somewhere deep inside, something stirred. A memory he couldn't place. A whisper at the edge of his thoughts.
10... 9... 8...
He would not die here. Not again.
5... 4... 3...
From the open gate, something stirred.
Eyes—not one, but dozens—glowed in the black.
Then it stepped forward.
A thing made of bone and sinew, wearing a crown of screaming faces, dragging a blade that hissed like acid.
The monster had arrived.
The creature didn't charge. It didn't roar or lunge.
It simply stood there—watching.
Its dozens of eyes glowed faintly, and one by one, they began to blink in unnatural, uneven rhythms. A dull pressure filled the air, heavy and suffocating, like drowning in silence. People froze mid-run, mid-shout, suddenly clutching their heads.
Then the screams began.
Not of pain—but of madness.
A boy to Alex's left dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, mumbling about his mother burning in front of him. Another girl stared wide-eyed at nothing, laughing until blood dripped from her nose.
"What the hell...?" Alex gasped.
Lysandra grabbed her temples, teeth gritted. "It's... showing them something. Memories, maybe. Or fears."
Alex turned back to the creature. It still hadn't moved—but the air around it pulsed. A weight pressed against his mind, creeping like fingers digging into old scars.
He stumbled.
A whisper.
At first, it was faint, like wind behind his ear.
You remember, don't you? The blood. The screams. That night...
"No," Alex whispered. "Stop."
His legs shook. Around him, people were falling one by one. Some clawed at their eyes, others simply went limp, drool sliding from their lips.
The ones who could move were running—toward the edge, toward the gate, toward nowhere.
Lysandra fell to one knee beside him. "It's... getting in my head... I can't—"
Alex clenched his fists, trying to push it all away. But the whisper only grew louder.
You were too weak. You let them die. Again and again and again.
His chest heaved. That night—his mother's screams. His father's twisted face. The blood that wouldn't stop. The guilt that never left.
He felt it again. The helplessness. The fear.
He screamed.
And then, the world fell silent—for him.
The air around his body grew cold, unnaturally so. Shadows curled around his limbs, twisting and spiraling in slow motion. The whisper returned—but this time, not from the monster.
From within.
You remember. Now make it matter.
His eyes, once brown, now glinted faintly silver.
He didn't know what had changed—only that something had. A stillness inside him where panic once lived.
But the monster noticed.
Its eyes shifted toward Alex. Slowly.
Dozens of other participants had already collapsed. Some babbling nonsense, others dead-eyed, unmoving. Only a few dozen remained standing—barely.
Lysandra looked up, face pale. "You feel that...?"
Alex didn't reply. He stepped forward slightly, drawn by something he couldn't name. The fear was still there, but dulled—contained behind a wall he hadn't built himself.
He didn't have a plan. He wasn't a fighter. But something inside told him to survive.
To endure.
To remember.
The monster took a step forward.
The trial had begun.