"SURVIVE. NO MATTER THE COST."
The voice was cold, clinical, and relentless, reverberating through Michael's skull like the toll of a distant, unyielding bell. He blinked, instinctively clutching his head, but there was no escaping it. The words burned into his consciousness, their weight pressing down on him.
And then... silence.
The world around him vanished. The air itself seemed to collapse inward, swallowing all sound, all sense of place. In the blink of an eye, Michael was no longer standing on the spoiled brat's perfectly manicured lawn.
He reappeared somewhere else entirely.
The area was unnervingly serene, as if pulled from the pages of a children's storybook—but the wrong kind. The air was thick with an uneasy stillness, broken only by the faint crackle of cooling embers in a campfire long since extinguished.
The campfire sat at the centre of the clearing, its charred kindling, remaining as embers of what it once was.
Towering trees formed a tight perimeter around the space, their trunks unnaturally thick—each wider than two grown men standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Their bark shimmered faintly, a pale aqua hue that seemed almost alive, as though it pulsed faintly under the dim, source less light.
The branches stretched high and sharp, their spindly, slick points reaching out like skeletal fingers, clawing at the sky.
In the center of this mystical place, six men and six women, each standing around the campfire, like preparing some chaotic ritual. each person stood quietly in this forbidden jungle.
A deadly silence overtook the campsite, like the calm before the storm, each person trying to grasp and understand the situation… Shouts. Screams. Thuds echoed across the area as chaos erupted.
The sounds of people scrambling, yelling, or falling. Michael turned his head, his eyes darting over the clearing. Some of the others had collapsed to their knees, openly weeping, while a few stood trembling in place. One or two had clenched fists, their postures rigid and defensive, ready for a fight.
One man stood out, his arms were crossed and his back straight as he stood there stoically, his arms like pythons, crossed on his chest and his body poised and ready, he had darkish skin and islander probably maybe from the Cook Islands.
He wore a round hat with teeth sewn onto the side, and on his waist sat a belt made from a certain animal's leather, with a short blade hanging to the side, the blade I recognized was the orange-colored bear Grylls hunting knife. His body is strong and opposing like some bodyguard or bouncer, clearly used to similar stressful situations.
When he spoke, his deep, gravelly voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Calm down," the man said. "No one here has kidnapped anyone. We are all in the same situation. So, let us all relax and figure this out, yeah?"
His words carried weight, and for a moment, the chaos seemed to ebb.
But the calm did not last.
"Shut up, mate!" someone yelled to Michael's right. A wiry young man with a scruffy haircut jabbed an accusing finger toward the muscular stranger. "For all we know, you could've kidnapped us!"
The boy spun toward Michael, his eyes widening in recognition. Michael's stomach sank in premonition as the kid exclaimed, "It's you!"
Michael blinked, realization hitting him like a sledgehammer. The bratty customer from earlier—the smug rich kid who had called him lazy—was here. Of all people.
"You!" the kid hissed, pointing accusingly. "You planned this, didn't you? You and Mr. Muscles over there!"
Before he could respond he lunged at Michael with his fist raised towards his head in an amateurish boxer stance as he sent wild and uncontrolled punches towards Michael telegraphing the desperate haymaker coming.
Surprised, Michael slipped under the punch, his body moving easier than expected, before pulling his wrist and him off balance before wrapping his hand under his armpits and holding the kid in a full nelson, as he thrashed around wildly, trying to rip or tear at Michael's face.
For a moment nothing was heard, except the furious thrashes and screams from the boy in Michael's arms as the attention of the campsite gravitated towards, seizing this opportunity, the deep, gravelly voice of the muscular man cut through the noise again.
"That's enough!" he bellowed, his tone sharp and commanding. "We're all stuck here and fighting each other isn't going to help!"
Michael loosened his grip slightly as he raised his head to meet the man's calm stoic gaze, sighing as he released his grip and pushed the boy away, trying to not get caught in his wild swinging thrashes like a dog with rabies.
The boy turned snarling at Michael, before the hard stare of the man across from him, made him shrink and quiet down.
"Alright I understand calm down" Michael mutters while running a hand through his hair, Michael turns back to the group and asks "Better question for now, who are you people and why are we here?"
The question hung there quietly
Michael turned back to the group, his eyes scanning the strangers. Most of them looked as confused as he felt, but his gaze lingered on the muscular man. There was something different about him—something controlled. Did he know something the rest of them didn't?
The man sighed, crossing his arms again. "First things first," he said. "Let us go around the circle and introduce ourselves. We need to figure out who is here before we can figure out what's going on."
He placed a hand on his chest. "Name's Christopher," he said simply. "But most people call me Chris."
He gestured to the woman beside him, motioning for her to go next. The others exchanged hesitant glances, their unease palpable, but one by one, they began to speak.
Michael rubbed his temples, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Trying to remember everyone's names felt like herding cats. Twelve people, all stranded here together, but only four names stuck in his mind: Chris, Joseph, Sophie, and Alex.
Chris, the muscular leader, had taken charge almost immediately. With his calm authority, he had led the group toward the campfire, where he began asking each person the same question: "What's the last thing you remember before ending up here?"
The answers were eerily consistent. Everyone recalled the same haunting memory—the glowing, floating text burned into their vision no matter how tightly they closed their eyes. And that voice. That cold, mechanical voice that spoke directly to their minds:
"SURVIVE. NO MATTER THE COST."
Joseph walked beside Michael now, the two of them moving just outside the clearing, tasked by Chris to search for clues.
Joseph was younger, probably in his early twenties, with a head of messy blond hair and the kind of athletic build that came from sports rather than the gym. He wore a white polo shirt and faded blue jeans—an outfit that screamed "former popular kid."
Joseph was the only one here who seemed close to Michael's age, which made him tolerable, even if Michael could already sense a faint cocky streak lurking beneath the surface.
Still, he was a much better companion than Alex, Michael's spoiled ex-customer, whose constant whining and demands for explanations had been driving him up the wall. The kid's entitled attitude hadn't improved one bit since their encounter earlier that day.
Michael allowed himself a faint smile. At least he was out here now, away from Alex's grating presence.
The jungle was quiet except the soft sobbing of the group carried through the still air. Michael glances back at Sophie holding someone tightly in her arms offering words of comfort and courage, as they lay escaping this... place in her arms.
Sophie stood out as a beacon in this grim situation. Her dark moonlight hair flowing freely in the wind, as it danced across her soft caramel skin, the quiet and smooth Caribbean accent even as she spoke in whispers of gentle love.
She was one of the first to remain strong, and the first to look after and protect the more fragile members of the group, even Alex's above the world attitude, softened around her.
Michael caught Joseph's look, as they both turned away, not out of malice or fear-but out of the sheer helplessness of their situation. Without hesitation turning back to the tasks, examining the quiet still trees before them.
The glimmer of something white poked out of the campfire, shifting through the ember Michael notices a clear see-through white crystal stood attached to the bottom of the pit.
"What is this? "Thinks Michael as he focuses on the blinking white dot on the center of his that appeared as soon as he wiped the embers of the crystal.
Floating text again appeared but this time enveloped the entire campsite causing surprised gasps and people to shoot to their feet.
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION: WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE THE LORD?
YES NO
Squinting his eyes to make out the messages, a distinct color to the previous black bold letters that brought them here, these messages were silvery golden, enticing the reader to take it.
Similar gasps echoed loudly behind him as his finger inched towards the dazzling golden acceptance button.
But do I really want it? I mean that would mean I would have to lead them… Michael thinks as he turns away to beckon, while he had only just met Chris he seemed more the natural leader, and wouldn't abuse it.
Looking behind him Michael notices that the same words above the crystal could be seen by everyone, unlike the impending words, flashing individually behind our eyes, before taking us to the TUTORIAL.
Chris sat gob smacked ten meters away, with tree branches he had some people get, helping the older people carry the heavier stuff. "CHRIS!" Michael yells, grabbing his jolting Christopher awake as he races towards the center of the camp.
"There is no way, I'm letting you do this" yelled Alex as he sat up from the side of the campsite and extended his hands towards the crystal. His face wide in excitement as he reaches the crystal.
Michael froze, his hands trembling knowing nothing good would go right with that kid in charge. His face hardens, eyes sharpen, and his hands turn dexterous, flashing his left hand out… he makes a choice.
A choice that changed his fate, irreversible and vital… whether it helps him or destroys him, only time will tell…
LORD HAS BEEN CHOSEN> TITLE 'KNIGHT" HAS BEEN GIVEN
CONGRATULATIONS> MICHAEL ASHFORD
LORD HAS BEEN CHOSEN, CANNOT BE CHANGED TILL OLD LORD IS DEAD
ACCESS TO SYSTEM HAS BEEN GRANTED
- INTERFACE ACTIVATED
- QUESTS ACTIVATED
- LEADERBOARDS ACTIVATED
- LORD INTERFACE ACTIVATED
QUEST>
THE LORD HAS BEEN CHOSEN, NOW IT IS TIME TO PROVE YOUR WORTH, YOUR METAL AND ABILITY TO COMMAND. SURVIVE 5 WAVES OF ATTACKS DURING THE NEXT MONTH. REWARDS WILL BE GIVEN AT THE END OF WAVES
PREPARE FOR WAVE 1 OF 5 WAVES
BEGIN TIME LEFT UNTIL NEXT WAVE IS 23:59
Vital the rustle of the branches seemed to be the only warning, before five beasts emerged, snarling savagely, drool slipping down their mouths and feral growls shaking the ground beneath them, as they turned towards us…