The corner shop was quiet in the way it always was at that hour.
A presenter spoke evenly from the television mounted above the shelves, her voice competing with the hum of refrigeration units and the rustle of packets being restocked.
"…and with just under five minutes to go until today's Trial begins, anticipation is building across all major platforms."
A digital countdown glowed in the corner of the screen.
00:04:37 — 18:00 UTC
He picked up a bag of crisps, hesitated, then added another. Accompanied by two energy drinks.
The presenter continued, calm and composed.
"Tonight's focus is Candidate Han Jae-sung of South Korea, currently one of the most promising entrants in this batch. Analysts are optimistic, with odds sitting at one-point-three to one for surpassing this stage."
The footage shifted to a still image of a Korean man in his late twenties, jaw tight, eyes forward.
"One of the strongest performances we've seen so far in this batch of contestants," she added. "If he maintains form, progression past trial twenty two might be within reach."
No one in the shop gave any reaction.
The man behind the counter didn't even glance up.
Gabriel paid, nodded, and stepped back out into the London evening, the countdown still ticking down behind him.
By the time he had reached his apartment, the sky had further dulled to a flat and depressing, dark grey.
My favourite. Gabriel thought to himself.
Gabriel stepped inside his flat and put his coat on the coat hanger. He then dropped his bag on top of the coffee table, kicked off his shoes, and sat down on the sofa.
Same place. Same view. Same routine.
Four years ago, he might've found this routine grotesque.
Now, he checked his phone.
17:59:56
He leaned back and exhaled.
"Three," he said quietly.
Gabriel blinked.
"Two."
The flat was silent.
"One."
A voice boomed inside his head, not harsh, not soft, but impossibly present and emotionless.
Would you like to watch the Trials?
"Yes."
The air in front of him folded in on itself. A translucent screen snapped into existence, sharp-edged and perfectly still.
A search bar hovered at the top. Below it were twelve profile images, arranged neatly in three rows.
All men. Different ages. Different countries. All with the same tight, rehearsed expression.
"Trial 14" scrolled across the lower edge of the interface, crisp and white on top of the blue background.
It's just trial fourteen and there are only twelve people left... what a pitifully weak batch.
Most of them won't last two minutes in this trial.
He had watched a countless number of people die, some spectacularly, some… not so spectacularly. That's why he watched the trials. Not simply for entertainment like many others, but to be prepared incase he was randomly chosen.
Gabriel scanned the faces, recognising a few from earlier coverage. One of which had barely scraped by in Trial thirteen, his wounds all having healed by now. Still, his chances of surpassing this trial were slim.
His eyes stopped at the final image.
Han Jae-Sunf.
The betting odd's favourite. Good footwork and fast reactions, though he lacks personality.
"I'll watch you today," he muttered.
The moment his finger touched the profile of the Korean man, the other pictures vanished.
The profile expanded, focused on a gladiator arena. The perspective was from a seat in the stands.
Inside the arena sand stretched out, pale and undisturbed. High walls of sand stone curved upwards, encircling the arena in a perfect ring. Tier upon tier of seating rose above-empty, silent, waiting for an audience that never came.
The arena of trial fourteen.
Same design. It was always like this.
At one end, a heavy gate stood sealed, its surface unmarked save for shallow grooves worn by use.
The gate began to open.
Metal groaned.
Han Jae-Sung stepped out onto the sand, his boots sinking slightly with each heavy step, leaving deep impressions that would soon be erased by the wind. In one hand he held a large hammer, a maul, whose weight seemed to be near impossible to lift by any normal human.
Jae Sung's gaze swept across the arena tracing the empty seats that encircled him. Knowing that despite the silence and lack of presence, there were millions, possibly billions watching his every movement.
His eyes followed the seats all the way around to the other side of the arena, landing on another large metal gate.
Gabriel felt Jae-Sung's gaze pass over him and a chill crept up his spine.
The gaze of a dead man. Gabriel thought to himself.
Metal groaned again.
Behind Jae-Sung, the gate slowly closed with a final echoing thud. He was trapped.
The moment the gate slammed shut. Simultaneously, the metal gate at the opposite side started rising.
Jae-Sung, who was now waiting in the centre of the arena, changed his grip on his maul so that he was holding it with both hands. Ready to swing it forward.
The metal gate stopped, fully open now.
At first, nothing emerged.
Darkness yawned beyond the threshold, thick and impenetrable. Then something shifted within the shadows—slow, deliberate.
A sound followed.
Not a roar. Not a screech.
A wet, dragging scrape against stone.
Jae-Sung tightened his grip on the maul. The muscles in his arms tensed, his stance widening as grains of sand slid beneath his boots.
A limb slid into view.
Seemingly an arm.
A black, insect-like arm. Jointed in places no limb should bend, its surface layered in sharp, black chitinous plates that caught the arena's light and swallowed it whole. Claws followed—curved, serrated, each one as long as Jae-Sung's hand-digging into the sand and pulling the rest of the creature forward.
The rest of it emerged.
A massive torso hunched low to the ground. Rows of faintly pulsing sacs lined its belly, expanding and contracting as it breathed. Its head came last, rising slowly, deliberately.
Multiple eyes opened at once.
They locked onto Jae-Sung.
Gabriel's breath caught in his throat.
Trial Fourteen began.