The smell of iron and ozone hung in the air at the cave's entrance, an invisible residue from Kael's death that the night breeze insisted on carrying inside. Alex gripped the pistol's handle so tightly his knuckles were white. He felt the weight of every decision that had brought him there. Each heartbeat sounded like a war drum echoing against the stone walls.
"Damn… we got ourselves dragged into another game without even leaving home," Harry muttered, his eyes fixed on the improvised monitors and the forest's shadows. He watched the movement of the foliage with a data analyst's precision. "Looks like they pulled back for now, but the trail of blood they left is a straight map to our door."
"We need to stay alert," Alex added, his voice low and sharp. "There's no way to be sure they're really gone or if they're just waiting for us to let our guard down to see who the 'architects' of the traps are. The moment one of them decides we're a bigger threat than the opponent in the game, this place becomes a target."
Yuki stepped closer to Alex, her presence a point of cold calm. She said nothing, but the way she checked the knife on her belt said everything he needed to know. She was ready to turn that cave into a morgue if anyone crossed the line.
Inside the forest, about two hundred meters from the cave, John's group operated in absolute silence. They were not just survivors; they were a tactical unit. John signaled for everyone to crouch among the massive roots of a wild fig tree.
Think, John. Think, he told himself, feeling the pulse in the cut above his eyebrow. Two of Aaron's group are injured. Mick is unstable. Maya is fast, but exhausted. We have the advantage, but the terrain is treacherous.
"Listen up," John whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "We need to press the advantage now. Two of the ones left are injured and their morale is broken. We'll follow them in secret, like shadows. We'll wait for the surgical opportunity to end this once and for all. I don't want a war of attrition. I want a clean kill."
He looked at Theo, his "Offering." "Theo, you stay hidden under this dense cover. Lance, you and the remaining girls will hold a curved covering formation. Knowledge and experience are our only real weapons here. We'll use a military battle formation: mutual cover and bounding movement. There's no room for mistakes this time. If we fail, Smith won't give us a second chance."
Lance nodded, wiping the blood from his broken nose. He felt a dull rage growing inside him. To him, those athletes were just obstacles on a path he intended to walk to the end. "Let's finish this, John. Their scent is everywhere. They're terrified."
Meanwhile, in a blind spot among the trees, Vane's group watched the scene with disturbing detachment. Vane, the man with scarred hands, leaned against a trunk while Sora kept night-vision binoculars trained on the cave.
"The soldier is persistent," Sora remarked, his voice devoid of emotion. "He's using urban guerrilla tactics in a tropical forest. Efficient, but predictable."
"Predictability is what will kill him, Sora," Vane replied, pulling out a small flask of water and taking only a measured sip. "What interests me isn't John. It's whoever's in that cave. Did you see the spike that killed the parkour kid? That wasn't amateur work. That was precision engineering."
"You think it's another group of professionals?" Sora asked, lowering the binoculars.
"Or someone who learned to hate the world very quickly," Vane gave a dark smile. "Smith said the 'lottery winner' was on the island. If it's that kid, Alex, he's surrounded himself with useful people. Useful or not, they're just variables. We'll wait for John to do the dirty work. If he wipes out Aaron's group, we eliminate what's left of John. The Sanctuary will be ours—not because we need rest, but because it's the perfect place to monitor the entire island."
"And the kid with the sunglasses in the cave?" Sora added. "I saw how he moved when they went out to scout. He's not afraid of the dark. He's part of it."
"Foxy…" Vane savored the name. "Yes, he's the only one who makes me feel like the game might be… interesting."
Aaron's group, now reduced and exhausted, stopped just a few meters from the camouflaged cave entrance. A low mist rose from the damp ground around them.
"There's someone there…" Aaron whispered, pointing to the crack in the rock. His ribs protested with every breath. "This is shit. We're surrounded. If we go forward, we trigger more of those damn traps. If we go back, John gets us."
Mick tightened his grip on the iron pipe, his eyes bloodshot. "I don't think John's group is going to stay put for long, Aaron. They're like hunting dogs. They can smell our fear. We need to strike first—whoever's in that cave. Maybe they have supplies, maybe they have a way out!"
"Or maybe they have more spikes waiting for you, Mick!" Maya snapped, her voice trembling. "Look at the ground! There could be wires everywhere!"
But the time for debate was over.
As if they had materialized from the shadows themselves, John and Lance appeared. They didn't shout; they attacked with the brutality of men who no longer recognized their opponent as human.
John burst from behind a bush, the collapsible baton cracking against Mick's knee with an audible snap. At the same time, Lance, acting in perfect sync, brought a downward blow with the butt of an empty shotgun onto the gymnast's neck. Mick fell before he could even raise his iron pipe. In a coordinated movement, John and Lance finished the job, making sure Mick would never get up again.
"We're not standing still, idiot," John hissed, his eyes locked on Aaron.
The fight that followed was a blur of physical violence. Driven by the desperation of losing his last friend, Aaron charged at John. They grappled in the mud, trading short, powerful punches. Maya tried to run, but Nicole and Carina (the survivors from John's team) cut off her path, wielding their improvised weapons with a ferocity they hadn't possessed on the first day. The island was changing them, turning fear into pure aggression.
Inside the cave, Alex's group watched everything on the large screen, which alternated between grainy images from Smith's thermal cameras and a direct view of the fissure.
"This is a slaughter," Dante said, covering his mouth. He watched the heat blurs collide, the lights signaling lives being snuffed out. "Why don't they stop? They could just run…"
"Run where, Dante?" Foxy's voice came from behind them, calm and icy. He leaned against the wall, his sunglasses reflecting the monitors' glow. "Smith surrounded the island with walls of metal and acid. There's only 'forward.' What you're seeing out there isn't a fight. It's a purification process. John is clearing the weak from the board."
Alex couldn't take his eyes off John. He saw the technique, the economy of movement. "He's too good," Alex said. "If he wins this game and gets the Sanctuary bonus, he'll become impossible to stop. Harry, if they get closer to the entrance, what do we do?"
Harry looked at the trap diagrams. "If they cross the line of white stones, the gas trap Elisa and I set will trigger. It's not lethal, but it'll leave them blind and coughing long enough for us to decide whether we shoot or retreat through the back of the cave."
Yuki stepped forward, entering Alex's line of sight. "I'm not running. If the soldier comes in here, I'll kill him."
"We all will, Yuki," Alex replied, feeling the adrenaline burn through his veins. "But we'll wait. Let them destroy each other first. The 'Offering' is still alive, and as long as Smith's game continues, they're distracted with one another."
Outside, Maya's scream echoed through the forest as she was cornered against a wall of thorns. The hunt was reaching its final act. Smith's fireworks exploded in the sky once more, bathing the carnage below in vibrant, cruel colors. The Sacrifice Game was about to deliver its offering, and the blood spilled among the island's roots seemed to nourish something far older and hungrier than Smith himself.
Foxy smiled in the gloom. He could smell the fear coming from outside, and to him, it was the sweetest perfume he had ever known. The final round had begun, and no one would leave unscathed.