**—RIIIP—**
The world tore open and spat him out.
Leo slammed onto his knees, palms scraping across warm, wet stone. Pain flared—sharp, grounding—followed immediately by the air hitting him like a slap.
Thick.
Humid.
Reeking of salt, rot, and old death.
No more screaming mountain wind.
Instead—
**WHOOOOSH—CRASH—CRASH**
The endless roar of waves.
He sucked in a breath and gagged.
Leo lifted his head.
A black ocean stretched to every horizon, its surface swelling and collapsing beneath a sky the color of spoiled wine. The clouds churned low and heavy, bruised and malignant.
From the sea rose **chains**.
Not anchors.
Not decorations.
Chains.
Each link the size of a house, rusted and ancient, climbing from the depths and vanishing into the clouds above. They swayed—slowly, deliberately—as though something unseen on the far end still *pulled*.
**GROOOOAN—KRRRRNK**
Metal complained. The sound crawled along his spine.
Between the chains lay the drowned corpse of a city older than memory.
Broken spires.
Shattered domes.
A maze of streets swallowed by the tide.
Water lapped at marble steps. Waves kissed toppled statues of forgotten kings, their stone faces eroded into blank, pleading masks.
Then the world burned.
---
**[Second Stage of the First Nightmare commencing.]**
**[Scenario: Slave Craven.]**
---
The words seared across his vision like brands pressed directly onto his eyes.
Then—gone.
Leo exhaled slowly.
"…Figures."
Above him, one of the colossal chains **groaned**.
Something moved along it—far up in the clouds. Too distant to see. Too heavy to mistake.
The sound it made was wrong.
Like metal dragged across bone.
Leo pushed himself upright.
His clothes were gone.
In their place: rough-spun trousers and a sleeveless tunic of undyed cloth, coarse against his skin. Practical. Dehumanizing.
A collar of cold iron circled his throat.
Seamless.
Clasp-less.
Unyielding.
When his fingers brushed it—
**THUMP**
The brand-marks along his skin pulsed in answer, a dull, obedient ache.
A new prompt surfaced.
---
**[Role: Slave No. 17]**
**[Objective: Survive the journey to the Crimson palace.]**
**[Warning: Death by any means will result in permanent elimination.]**
---
Leo laughed.
Once.
Low. Bitter.
"Of course," he muttered. "Slave. Why break the theme?"
Footsteps scraped behind him.
Leo turned.
Twenty-three others stood on the cracked marble platform.
Men.
Women.
A few who looked barely old enough to be called either.
All dressed the same.
All wearing the same iron collar.
Their expressions fractured in different ways—wide-eyed terror, clenched defiance, hollow resignation. Some bled from fresh wounds. Others stared into nothing, already halfway gone.
Near the front stood a girl with short black hair and sharp cheekbones. She gripped a broken spear, white-knuckled, as if the jagged shaft could still mean survival.
Beside her, a boy shook so violently his teeth clicked together.
**KRRRRNK—**
The chain above them lurched.
The sky *opened*.
**BOOOOM—!**
A massive iron cage dropped from the clouds and smashed onto the platform. The impact cracked marble and hurled half the slaves to their knees.
The bars were thick as Leo's thigh.
The door hung open.
Seawater and old blood dripped from the floor.
A voice followed.
Not the Spell.
Something older.
Crueler.
It rolled down from the clouds like thunder shaped into language.
"**Board.**"
Silence.
No one moved.
The chain twitched again.
A shape detached from the darkness above—wrongly proportioned, bristling with wings. Its beak curved like a scythe forged for harvesting souls.
It dove.
**FWOOM—SPLAT**
The first slave who hesitated ceased to exist—red mist painting the air before his scream could even begin.
The rest broke.
They ran.
Leo moved with them—not fast, not slow—just another body swept along by panic.
Inside the cage, the stench hit harder.
Old blood.
Saltwater.
Fear soaked so deeply into the iron it tasted metallic on the tongue.
The door slammed shut behind the last slave.
**CLANG—KRRRRNK**
The cage lurched upward.
It swung violently as it was hauled into the sky.
**WHOOOO—**
Wind screamed through the bars.
The drowned city shrank beneath them, swallowed once more by black water.
Leo found a corner and pressed his back to the cold iron. He watched.
Counted.
Twenty-three slaves.
Twenty-three collars.
One cage.
He already knew how this ended.
Across from him, the girl with the broken spear met his gaze.
There was no fear in her eyes.
Only calculation.
She gave him the smallest nod.
Leo returned it.
The cage climbed higher, swaying above the endless sea.
Far below, something vast broke the surface—long as a mountain range. A shape defined only by movement and mass.
A thousand glowing eyes opened.
Watching.
Leo curled his fingers around the **Shadow Shard**, hidden now as a simple iron ring on his finger.
Inside the cage, the shadows stirred.
Hungry.
Tasting iron.
Tasting terror.
Leo smiled—thin and humorless.
"Let the games begin."