The artificial sun of the Colosseum finally buckled, drowning the arena in a heavy, settle night. The cheers of the crowd were cut short by a cold, mechanical hum that vibrated through the stone.
[ Next Round: Opening ]
[ Mission: The Ever-Night Forest ]
[ Difficulty: A+ ]
A viscous, ink-like darkness rose from the floorboards, swallowing us whole. My vision blurred for a heartbeat, and then the teleportation snapped. The heat of the stadium was replaced by the biting chill of a silver fog and the scent of rotting wood. We had arrived.
The Ever-Night Forest was a stage, and we were the only ones who knew the script.
We moved through the fog, connected by the Coordinate Loom. To my team, the threads felt like soft silk bands, a reassuring pulse of connection. But the magic was deceptive; if an outsider tried to push through or if a teammate moved beyond the "safe" radius, the silk would tighten into a mana-edged razor, sharp enough to sever limbs.
A group of eight souls shrieked as they lunged from the mist. I stepped forward, my hands flickering with Shadow Fire. I didn't have full control over the element yet—it felt like trying to hold a starving animal—but it was enough. The black flames licked out, erasing the eight spirits before they could touch the threads.
"Position," I commanded.
We began our "performance." My team started clashing with the environment, shouting and releasing flashy, low-impact spells. To any nearby team, we sounded like a group of desperate survivors struggling against a horde.
It worked. The Trolls and Dwarves, sensing an easy "Third-Party" opportunity, burst from the thickets to steal our kills. They charged into the clearing, their eyes on our backs.
"Now," I whispered.
The "struggling" Elves vanished with summoning magic help. In a heartbeat, we were in the trees. The Trolls and Dwarves realized too late that there were no souls here—only the corpses of the spirits I had already deleted.
"Gravity. Ignition," I ordered.
Three of my Elves channeled a high-tier Area-of-Effect spell. A massive Gravity Field slammed down, pinning the Dwarves and Trolls to the blood-soaked soil. They couldn't even scream before the High-Tier Fire Spell incinerated the clearing.
Lysandria's POV
"Caelrion, move!" I shouted.
Prince Caelrion unleashed his Blue Soul Fire—a jagged, agonizing flame that scorched spirits. Beside him, Princess Luna of the Lunar Sanctum released her own blue energy, a merciful tide that consumed the souls and set them free without pain.
They were opposites: the Executioner with the solid Red eyes, and the Redeemer with the deep Blue.
"Stay back," Eron said, his voice as cold as a sharpening blade.
"The center is a massacre," I said. "We can scavenge—"
"You'd be scavenging your own grave," Eron interrupted, his eyes tracking the sapphire pillar rising in the distance. "Look at the pattern. That 'Shadow Slave' faked a struggle to lure the Trolls and Dwarves in. He used them as a catalyst. I've faced a mind of this caliber once before—a strategist who treats lives like currency. If you go in there, you aren't a hero; you're just a variable he's already deleted."
The Hunter's POV
The souls had swarmed the remains of the baited teams, climbing the trees and rotting the wood with their presence. I crouched on a branch, looking down at the spark I had left ignited in the chest of a fallen Troll.
I wasn't ready to use Shadow Fire for a blast of this scale—the recoil would be too high. Instead, I signaled the Elves. They reached out, their mana coating my blade in a flickering, borrowed Blue Fire.
I plunged the sword downward into the "Small Hole" in the barrier logic. I dumped 50% of my mana through the blade and into the dormant spark.
BOOM.
The clearing turned into a blue-tinted void. 500 souls were erased in a single, pressurized heartbeat.
Lysandria's POV
We were on the North-East beach, our progress slow. Luna and Caelrion had managed 65 kills. Suddenly, the static hum of a barrier snapped shut around us.
Through the shimmering wall, I saw the 'Shadow Slave.'
His team moved with the silence of a clockwork machine. Because of the threads, they never lost their footing. They harvested the beach we had "saved," their blue-lit blades cutting through the souls with a mechanical efficiency that made our "Royal" efforts look pathetic.
The Shadow Slave didn't even look at us. He just watched the counter on his wrist tick up.
[Current Rank: 1st - Team Hunter: 535 Kills]
The only sound left was the mechanical ticking of the counter on my wrist. 535. Variable secured