Whoosh~
"Hey. WAKE UP!"
A boot slammed into Rynn's stomach and the world snapped back into focus. Pain rippled outward like cracking glass. He curled inward, wheezing, sweat beading along his brow as a cold dread trickled down his spine.
For a split second, just a split second, he remembered the sensation of cold metal sliding between ribs. Organs shifting. Hands digging inside him.
His breath hitched.
'Did they… harvest my organ?'
Before the thought fully formed, another kick smashed into his cheek. His vision sparked white.
"Tch. Useless vermin," the scarred guard muttered, uninterested. He turned and stalked down the left hallway, just like every loop before.
Rynn stayed hunched over, fingers trembling as he cupped his face. The sting wasn't as sharp this time. Not numbed, never numbed, but… dulled. Muted. Wrong.
"Damn it," he whispered. "Why…"
He hadn't even died to anything dramatic in the last loop. Not a dragon. No. He had died because he acted like an idiot.
He grit his teeth until his jaw creaked.
'I hate this. I hate my life. I hate myself.'
He slapped his own cheek sharply, forcing his spiraling thoughts to still.
"No. Think," he hissed under his breath. "Another solution. Efficient and quick! You can still do this. You haven't lost yet"
But the fear lingered like a bruise inside his ribs. The memory of dying, every time, lingered.
He forced himself upright and scanned the cell. The same barren stone. The same rusted bars. Nothing.
He moved to the next cell, then the next, shuffling through debris and cracked frames. Most were empty or ruined. One was smeared with dried blood.
He stood frozen at the doorway, bile rising.
"…okay. Okay, just… go."
Three seconds later he sprinted out of the room, gagging, vowing to never look inside again.
He didn't stop until he found a cell that seemed less destroyed. Digging under the bedframe, his fingers brushed something, a thin slit of space. A hidden cavity.
He tugged.
A scrap of paper came loose.
Cell 28# has a large vent. Can't believe he's that lucky.
"A… vent?" he breathed.
His mind sparked alive. If he could map out the prison… if he could move unseen, bypass the guards, get to the outer rings, then maybe, maybe, he could survive long enough to understand this hell.
But Cell 28# was past the two men who killed him last loop. Past Ronnie and their "Boss."
His stomach twisted.
'Maybe… there's another way.'
He scanned the cell again. Nothing. Nothing, until his eyes landed on something half-buried beside a broken crate. A faint glimmer of metal.
He knelt and lifted it.
An amulet. Cracked, but faintly humming.
A grin tugged at his lips in spite of everything. "You've gotta be kidding me."
His heart thumped with fragile hope.
***
Somewhere deeper in the hallway.
"Hey Boss! What the hell are you doing in there?"
A heavy sigh echoed. "Listen, Ronnie… we're running out of chimes. If I can grab a few runts down here, maybe we can extend our visa long enough to not drop dead this week."
Ronnie's footsteps stopped.
"…Already?"
Silence. Thick, tired.
Rynn crouched behind an overturned table, clutching the cracked amulet to his chest. It buzzed faintly, something like warmth spreading across his skin, thinning his breath, dampening the sound of his heartbeat. Hiding him.
Mostly.
He peeked around the corner.
Boss, Rynn still didn't know his real name, leaned against the wall, rubbing a thumb over the glowing brand on his collarbone. The same brand Rynn had. The so-called gladiator emblem.
The mark that was both leash and executioner.
"Mine's down to two days," Boss muttered. "Soon as it turns black, that poison kicks in. Heart to gut. Seen it too many times."
Ronnie clicked his tongue. "Should've gotten better pulls. Last batch of opponents was worthless."
"Because they gave us worthless ones," Boss snapped, keeping his voice low. "Low-value chimes mean low-value opponents. And when we're low, they know we're desperate. Arena taxes us, gives scraps, then expects us to fight again."
Ronnie slumped. "Arena's gonna run out again soon, right?"
"Yeah." Boss's voice cracked slightly. "When they run out of fighters, they start throwing the big tainted ones at us. The Nil-marked beasts. Unpredictable, insane, half of them attack their own side."
Rynn swallowed hard. His hands tightened around the amulet.
So that's why they were panicking.
So that's what visa meant.
So that's the poisoned countdown beneath our skin.
He could feel his own mark pulsing faintly, as if acknowledging the truth.
He shifted slightly, and the amulet flickered.
Just a sputter.
Just once.
But enough.
Because suddenly a new voice cut through the hallway.
"…Why is that here?"
Rynn froze.
A short girl with a bob cut and a gleaming mechanical arm stood at the end of the corridor, eyes sharp as knives. Eli.
The same Eli who sliced him open in a previous loop.
Ronnie went pale. "E-Eli?! What're you doing down here?"
Her gaze was fixed on Rynn. Or rather—on the amulet in his hand.
"That," she said slowly, "belongs to someone very specific. And if he's wearing it… that means someone rotated the roster without telling me."
Boss swore under his breath.
Eli exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "This is bad news. Real bad. If they're rotating, it means Silverstar's planning something. And if she's planning something…"
Ronnie finished weakly, "…it means we're going to war."
Eli nodded once. "All of you. With me. Now. Kid included."
She pointed directly at Rynn.
He stiffened.
His heart hammered.
The amulet flickered again, weaker.
Eli's cybernetic eye narrowed.
"…And you. Don't even think about running."
She stepped closer.
Rynn's mind raced
The amulet sputtered,
Flickered,
Died.
***
Deep within the underground, Rynn saw things he'd never imagined existed.
Robots marched down cross-corridors with glowing joints. Prisoners with metal prosthetics swapped banter as if this nightmare was normal. Some had entire torsos reinforced with plates; others carried weapons fused directly into their arms. A few had eyes replaced with dim lenses that clicked as they tracked movement.
He had seen a dragon. A massive one. A creature out of legends.
But this?
This felt real in a way magic and monsters never did.
The corridors twisted like a maze that rebuilt itself every few minutes. He couldn't tell whether they were moving in a straight line or circling back on themselves. The walls shimmered as if coated with liquid metal, rearranging in a soft grinding hum. Even Eli, who strode confidently at the front, kept her eyes locked on the small tablet in her hand.
Then she cursed.
"Damn. Is the guard messing with us again?"
Ronnie peered over her shoulder. "Nope. Looks like more rotations. A lot more. Probably 'cause of the Gyro incident."
'Rotation?'
The term pinged in Rynn's mind. He frowned, confused.
Ronnie noticed. "Right, you're new. Rotation means the Inferno never keeps one layout. No concrete design. No fixed halls. Never has. The arena shifts itself, like it's alive. Makes it hell for everyone, guards, gladiators, even monsters."
"And they're tightening security," Eli muttered. She rubbed her temple before continuing, exhausted. "Gyro, the original owner of that amulet you're clutching, threw a tantrum and almost escaped. Level-headed my ass."
Rynn nearly dropped the amulet.
'So the original owner was… that strong?'
Level four hundred at least. Maybe more.
Boss snorted. "Maybe Silverstar turned him into an undead soldier already. Bastard was strong enough. Could probably take on a galactic being if he wasn't such a maniac." His tone was half-taunt, half-resentment.
"Well, if we don't hurry up," Eli said flatly, "we'll be the ones shoved into the arena fighting gods-know-what, then turned into undead soldiers whether we like it or not."
Her voice carried a weight that made the air drop ten degrees.
Rynn shivered.
His fingers instinctively brushed his own gladiator brand. He imagined the poison waiting silently under his skin for the moment his visa hit zero.
They turned a corner, Eli stopped.
Without warning, she retracted her tablet, rolled her cybernetic arm back into her shoulder joint, then launched it forward like a battering ram.
BOOM!
The wall exploded into debris.
She stepped through the dust cloud into a wide chamber that looked like a cafeteria merged with a courtroom. Gladiators lounged across metal benches, brawling, eating, scheming. Every pair of eyes that turned toward them held something different, curiosity, disdain, boredom, predatory interest.
Eli inhaled deeply.
Then screamed:
"LISTEN UP, YOU BRAIN-DEAD MORONS! MEETING. NOW. DRAG YOUR USELESS HIDES OVER HERE!"
Her words echoed down the metal halls.
Several gladiators turned.
Most did not.
A vein twitched in Eli's forehead.
She lifted her cybernetic arm, and it shifted. Split. Reformed.
Weapons unfolded from the metal: barrels, blades, emitters.
The air trembled.
A suffocating pressure filled the room, a killing intent so thick Rynn's knees nearly buckled.
Then,
A slender, pale hand smooth as marble closed around her arm.
The owner was tall, taller than anyone present, with ink-black hair brushing his shoulders and swirling tattoos that pulsed faintly with each heartbeat. Despite his calm smile, his presence pressed on the room like gravity.
"Eli," he said softly. "Surely this isn't another tantrum."
"This isn't a tantrum!" she snapped back. "Gyro is dead!"
Her voice cracked.
Silence.
It washed over the room like a wave. The pale man's expression shifted for the first time. Not much but enough. A faint tightening of the jaw. A flicker in his eyes.
Gyro. Ex-General of the Imperium of Solaris. A man whose name alone could shake star systems. Mortals worshiped him. Armies feared him. A universe-class threat.
Dead.
Rynn swallowed. Goosebumps rose across his skin.
The pale man, Caerith, spoke slowly.
"When did this happen?"
"The last we saw him was in the arena," Eli replied, lowering her weapon. "But the strongest thing they had thrown in lately was a magma golem, and do you really think he'd die to a golem? The only other option is—"
Caerith's voice dropped into a whisper.
"A dragon."
The mere mention made several hardened gladiators flinch. One man dropped his spoon. Someone else muttered a prayer.
For Rynn, the word struck like a blade to the spine. Breath caught in his throat. His legs trembled uncontrollably.
Ronnie's eyes flicked toward him and softened just slightly but he said nothing.
"So," someone murmured. "It begins."
"War…"
Another voice echoed.
The entire hall sank into a chilling stillness.
Then a loud scoff shattered it.
"So? Why're you all scared?" A massive, red-haired gladiator with shoulders broad enough to block the light stood up. His fiery mane swayed as he stretched his neck. "If Gyro's dead, that just means he was too weak to fight a dragon!"
His voice boomed like a drum.
Another gladiator groaned. "Here we go…"
"And you," Eli hissed, glaring at him, "lost to Gyro's side-kick's side-kick. Sit down, Roderick."
"The hell did you say?!" Roderick puffed up like an enraged bull. "Say it again, bolt-brain!"
Their auras clashed, Eli's cold pressure versus Roderick's explosive heat. Sparks literally crackled between them.
And then—
A calm, soft tone sliced the tension cleanly in half.
"Now, now. Let's not embarrass ourselves."
Every head turned.
A slender figure in pale green robes stepped forward, long light-green hair brushing the tips of his ears. His slit-shaped eyes curved in a fox-like manner, always appearing to smile even when he clearly wasn't. His presence radiated manipulation, effortless, subtle, poisonous.
Ray.
Caerith took a single breath and retreated half a step.
Eli clicked her tongue but lowered her stance.
Even Roderick grumbled but quieted.
Ray clasped his hands, smile never faltering.
"Thank you. Now that we're behaving like adults—Caerith?"
The pale man nodded, stepping back.
Ray's eyes gleamed.
"Good. I'll keep this short. We all want to survive, yes?"
No one responded aloud.
But no one disagreed.
"Then how about," Ray continued pleasantly, "we overthrow Silverstar?"
Every jaw in the room dropped.
Someone coughed violently.
Another whispered, "He's lost it."
Roderick stared at him like Ray had sprouted two heads.
"I'm not talking about overthrowing Silverstar the Merchant," Ray clarified, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm talking about overthrowing Silverstar's Arena. A smaller target. Much smaller."
Caerith's voice rumbled quietly. "And how do you plan to do that?"
Ray's smile sharpened.
"Well, I—"
"Probably something stupid," Roderick interrupted. "Like punching a dragon in the face."
"I would do that," Ray said cheerfully. "But no. This plan is bigger."
He stepped onto a table, drawing the room's attention.
"With Gyro dead, the rotation will bring out one of the major beasts, and with the war coming Silverstar won't have enough manpower to keep this large facility perfectly secure. There'll be confusion. Chaos. A perfect window."
A voice from the back shouted:
"Yeah, but who the hell is gonna fight that thing?! If we're all part of the plan, who holds it off?! That's suicide!"
The room murmured.
Everyone knew the truth:
Whoever fought the dragon or whatever monster came next wasn't coming back.
Ray looked around the crowd, searching, evaluating…
Then his eyes stopped.
Slowly very slowly, every head turned toward a small, unfamiliar figure standing stiffly near the entrance.
Rynn.
His blood went cold.
His breath hitched.
Dozens of gazes bore into him, predatory, curious, expecting.
Ray's lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Well," he purred, "our new friend has been awfully quiet."
The hall fell silent.
And Rynn felt the weight of an entire arena settle onto his shoulders.