The hours dragged on, marked only by the flicker of candlelight and the low murmurs of the prisoners. Some had fallen asleep, slumped awkwardly against the bars or on the hard floor, while others stared blankly into the darkness, their minds elsewhere. The cage felt heavy with silence and unease, as though even the walls shared in their hopelessness.
Still, an odd sense of safety settled over him, fragile and fleeting in a place like this. He didn't trust it, but he clung to it all the same.
Could he do it? His heart told him to believe, to cling to hope. But his mind? It was less forgiving. He had seen the guards, their heavy armor, and their unflinching brutality. They were stationed at every corner, their watchful eyes missing nothing. There was no escape.
Despite his unease, fatigue overcame him, and his eyes finally closed.
Suddenly, Micheal jolted awake. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the cage, each step louder than the last. His heart raced as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, squinting toward the source.
A guard stood at the cage door, his figure framed by the dim light. His armor gleamed faintly, a cruel mockery of the suffering it represented. Behind him, other guards loomed in the shadows, silent and motionless.
Micheal glanced around. Others were stirring now, their movements sluggish as if the weight of despair dulled their senses. Some, however, crawled toward the door, a desperate glimmer of hope flickering in their eyes.
"Idiots," Evander muttered, his voice low and sharp. "They think they're getting out of here."
The guard stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger strapped to his side. His voice boomed, deep and resonant, each word carrying a cruel authority.
"Core has chosen," he announced, his tone growing even deeper, like a cavern echoing endlessly. "The next trial will begin shortly. The trial of All Against One."
Micheal's brow furrowed as he murmured under his breath, "All Against One?" The name sent a ripple of unease through the cage.
One of the inmates, wild-eyed and desperate, suddenly bolted for the open door, his steps frantic and clumsy.
The guard moved with precise speed, his dagger flashing as it plunged into the man's hip. The inmate let out a choked scream as blood gushed from the wound, pooling around his feet. Without hesitation, the guard delivered a powerful kick, sending the man crashing into the opposite wall of the cage. The impact rattled the steel bars, and the inmate slumped to the ground, coughing up blood.
Micheal felt bile rise in his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his cheeks puffing as he fought the urge to vomit. Around him, the other prisoners recoiled, scattering to the edges of the cage like frightened animals.
The guard straightened, wiping the blade on his armor as if the blood was no more than an inconvenience. He coughed, then continued, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"The Trial of All Against One," he repeated, "is a test of strength and endurance. One inmate will face the rest. If the chosen inmate wins, they will be granted their freedom."
A collective gasp spread through the cage. Freedom—it was a word none of them had dared to hope for.
"But," the guard added, his tone darkening, "if the inmate loses, the rest of you will return to your cells. And if the inmate dies—" He paused, letting the words hang. "Then the rest of you will be set free."
The cage erupted into whispers and gasps, the tension rising.
"All of us… free?" someone muttered, their voice trembling with disbelief.
"No breaks. No time limits. No rules," the guard continued.
Micheal's mind spun as the guard's words sank in. A trial where one fought against all? It was madness—a guaranteed death sentence for the chosen, and a twisted glimmer of hope for everyone else.
His stomach churned, not from hunger this time, but from dread.
The guard's eyes scanned the cage, lingering on each inmate for a moment before moving to the next. Micheal couldn't help but tense, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. Who would it be?
Evander's voice cut through the chaos, low and steady. "Stay quiet. Keep your head down."
Micheal glanced at him, noticing the grim set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. Evander wasn't scared—he was ready.
"Why are you so calm?" Micheal asked under his breath.
Evander didn't look at him. "Because it doesn't matter who they choose," he replied. "The odds are always the same."
The guard's gaze finally stopped. A cruel smile spread across his face.
"Prepare yourselves," he said, his tone laced with mockery.
The door creaked open wider, and the prisoners froze, their fear suffocating the air.
Micheal felt the weight of the moment crushing down on him. He wasn't ready for this.
But then again, no one ever was.
Without warning, a loud groan echoed through the cage. The steel floor beneath the inmates shuddered violently, cracks forming in its surface. Before anyone could react, the floor collapsed, plunging the prisoners into a void.
Micheal's stomach swayed as he fell, the air whipping past him. The cries of the others blended into a cacophony of terror, the sound growing louder as they plummeted.
With a bone-jarring thud, Micheal hit the ground, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. He coughed and gasped for air, his limbs aching from the fall. Around him, other inmates lay sprawled on the floor, some groaning in pain, others too stunned to move.
They were in an arena now.
The space was massive, its circular walls built from ancient stone and worn brick. Flickering torches lined the perimeter, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the arena floor. The air was heavy with the acrid stench of sulfur, and a thick, noxious fog swirled around the edges of the arena, forming an impassable barrier. Yet the center of the arena—where the inmates had landed—remained clear, as if untouched by the deadly gases.
Micheal pushed himself to his knees, his eyes darting around in confusion. The arena had an oppressive aura, its silence broken only by the muffled groans of the injured. On the eastern side, a raised stage loomed over the space. It was stark and simple, made of dark stone, with a single ornate chair positioned at its center.
As Micheal stared at the stage, three guards descended from above, landing with precision on its surface. Their movements were synchronized, and once they landed, they stood perfectly still—silent and unmoving.
Then he appeared.
CORE descended gracefully, his feet barely making a sound as they touched the stage. His presence was magnetic, a blend of power and menace that made the air feel heavier. His figure was shrouded in an aura of authority, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering torchlight. He took his seat in the ornate chair, crossing his legs with an air of casual dominance.
CORE muttered something under his breath, his lips moving faintly, but the words were inaudible.
The inmates exchanged nervous glances, their confusion and fear palpable. Some clutched their injuries from the fall, while others simply froze, too overwhelmed to react. The man who had tried to escape earlier now lay in a growing pool of his own blood, his breaths shallow and ragged.
Micheal felt a lump rise in his throat as he looked around. His chest tightened, and his fists clenched instinctively.
CORE rose from his chair, his movements deliberate. He extended his arms outward, his dark eyes surveying the crowd with cold amusement.
"Welcome," CORE began, his voice slicing through the tense air. "To my playground, friends."
The word friends dripped with sarcasm, a twisted mockery of their predicament.
Some inmates gritted their teeth, their anger simmering beneath the surface. Micheal did the same, the hatred bubbling inside him threatening to spill over.
Evander, however, remained calm, his piercing gaze fixed on CORE. His expression was unreadable, his posture unwavering.
CORE's lips curled into a faint smile. "I trust you've all heard the rules of this little game," he continued, his voice sharp and direct, tinged with an unsettling hint of impatience. "And since I'm not a man who enjoys waiting…" He paused, his smile widening. "Let us begin."
The crowd stiffened as CORE's words sank in, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
"The one who has been selected is…" CORE's voice lingered in the air, teasing the moment. Then, with a flourish, he declared, "MR1, also known as Micheal Rich!"
The arena erupted in gasps and murmurs, the inmates exchanging panicked glances. Micheal's stomach churned, his mind racing. His name echoed in his ears, each syllable a hammer blow to his resolve.
"This can't be happening," Micheal whispered to himself, his voice trembling.
CORE's piercing gaze found Micheal in the crowd. "Since MR1 will be going up against all of you," CORE announced, his tone mockingly generous, "he will be given a dagger."
One of the motionless guards stepped forward, producing a dagger from his belt. It gleamed under the torchlight, its blade jagged and cruel. With a swift throw, the guard sent the weapon spinning through the air.
The dagger landed at Micheal's feet with a metallic clang, embedding itself slightly in the stone floor.
Micheal stared at it, his heart pounding in his chest. Around him, the other inmates took a collective step back, their expressions a mixture of fear and malicious curiosity.
CORE's voice boomed again, cutting through the murmurs. "Let me remind you of the stakes. If MR1 survives and defeats all of you, he will be set free. If he loses consciousness, the rest of you will return to your cages—alive. But should he die…"
CORE paused, savoring the tension. "Then every single one of you will be granted your freedom."
The inmates' reactions shifted in an instant. Fear gave way to hunger—hunger for freedom. Micheal could see it in their eyes.
"He's just one man," someone muttered from the crowd.
Another voice chimed in, louder and bolder. "We can take him! We have to take him!"
The inmates' murmurs grew into a collective growl, their fear replaced by a predatory determination. Micheal felt the air around him shift, the tension thick and suffocating.
Evander stepped forward slightly, his face impassive as he locked eyes with Micheal.
Micheal bent down slowly, his trembling hand reaching for the dagger. The steel felt heavy in his grip.
CORE clapped his hands, the sharp sound silencing the crowd. "Let the trial of All Against One… begin!"
The torches flared, their flames roaring to life as if in response to CORE's command. The inmates surged forward as one, their hesitation gone. Micheal barely had time to steady his stance before the first inmate lunged at him, a makeshift weapon—a shard of broken stone.
Instinct took over. Micheal dodged to the side, the stone scraping past his shoulder. He swung the dagger in a wild arc, the blade finding flesh.
A cry of pain rang out as the attacker fell, clutching his side. Micheal barely had a moment to process what he'd done before another inmate charged at him.
The trial had begun.
The inmates charged, a chaotic mass of desperation and violence. Micheal's grip tightened on the dagger, his knuckles white against the steel. His heart raced as adrenaline flooded his veins.
A wiry man with sunken eyes and wild hair—dashed at Micheal, swinging a jagged piece of stone. Micheal sidestepped, the sharp edge whistling past his face, and countered with a swift slash across the man's arm. The attacker howled in pain, dropping the makeshift weapon and clutching his wound as he fell to the ground.
Before Micheal could catch his breath, another inmate—a broad-shouldered brute with a savage grin—came barreling toward him, fists raised. Micheal ducked under the first swing, the force of the punch stirring the air above his head. He drove the dagger upward, aiming for the man's exposed side. The blade bit into flesh, and the brute staggered back with a bellow, clutching his ribs.
Micheal stumbled, his breaths ragged. He could feel the eyes of CORE on him, watching from the stage, savoring every moment of the chaos.
"Bring it On!" Micheal shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to steady himself.
A woman darted out of the crowd, her movements quick and precise. In her hands was a broken chain, its rusted links swinging dangerously. She lashed out, the chain snapping through the air like a whip. Micheal raised his arm instinctively, the chain wrapping around it with a painful sting.
She yanked hard, pulling Micheal toward her, but he used the momentum to his advantage. He charged, slamming into her with his shoulder and sending her sprawling to the ground. He tore the chain free from his arm, ignoring the sting of the cuts, and raised his dagger.
"Stop!" she cried, her voice trembling. For a brief moment, Micheal hesitated, the weight of what he was doing crashing over him.
But the crowd behind her didn't hesitate. Another inmate leaped forward, forcing Micheal to abandon the woman and turn to defend himself again.
One by one, they came at him—some with weapons or fists. Micheal ducked, dodged, and countered, his body moving on pure instinct. He landed strikes where he could, each one adding to the pile of groaning bodies around him. But every swing of the dagger felt heavier than the last, and his muscles screamed in pain.
He stumbled, his legs buckling for a moment before he forced himself upright. Blood slicked his hands, and his breaths came in shallow gasps.
From the corner of his eye, Micheal spotted Evander. The towering man hadn't moved, standing amidst the chaos like an unshakable pillar. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched Micheal struggle.
The sight of Evander's calm composure intrigued Micheal. He forgot all about the other inmates and dashed straight for Evander.
Without thinking, Micheal charged at Evander, the dagger clutched tightly in his trembling hand.
Evander moved at the last possible moment, stepping aside with effortless grace. His fist shot out, a punch to Micheal's chest that sent him flying backward. Micheal hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his entire body.
Groaning, Micheal pushed himself to his feet. His vision blurred, but he could still see Evander standing there, unmoved.
"You're out of your depth," Evander said, his voice calm but firm.
Micheal growled, the frustration and exhaustion clouding his judgment. He rushed at Evander again, swinging the dagger wildly. Evander caught Micheal's wrist with one hand, twisting it just enough to force him to drop the weapon. With a push, Evander sent Micheal sprawling to the ground once more.
"Stay down," Evander warned, his tone without of malice but heavy with authority.
But Micheal didn't listen. He scrambled to his feet, his vision narrowing as he lunged at Evander again. This time, Evander didn't even bother dodging. He caught Micheal mid-charge and threw him to the ground with a single fluid motion.
Pain exploded through Micheal's body as he lay on the cold stone floor, gasping for air. Around him, the other inmates watched in stunned silence.
"Enough," Evander said quietly. "You're not winning."
Micheal didn't move. His body ached, and his mind was a swirling storm of doubt and fear. He stared up at the ceiling, the distant sound of CORE's amused laughter ringing in his ears.
Could he really do this? Could he fight them all and survive?
The thought of giving up crept into his mind like a shadow. If he let them kill him, it would all be over. The pain, the fear, the constant struggle—it would all end.
But then, the faces of the others came to him. The prisoners. The guards. CORE, sitting on his throne with that smug, untouchable grin.
Did he really want to die here? To let CORE win? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he clenched his fists.