The voice boomed overhead, mechanical and emotionless:
"Welcome to the Trials. Your survival determines your worth. Your worth determines your life. Let the games begin."
Benson blinked against the bright lights, trying to steady himself. His head still pounded, and the metallic taste of fear filled his mouth. The arena was massive, stretching further than his eyes could focus, with high walls surrounding them like a cage.
Dozens of people stood around him, some looking confused, others entirely too calm, as if they'd been here before.
Each one was armed—pans, knives, gun, something.
And then there was him—empty-handed, exhausted, and utterly lost.
"Good luck," Greed's voice oozed into his mind, dark and mocking.
"Shut up," Benson muttered under his breath, trying to focus. He scanned the crowd for anyone he could approach without getting immediately stabbed.
It didn't look promising.
"Newbie?" A voice cut through the murmurs of the group.
Benson turned to see a man standing nearby, his smirk razor-sharp and his eyes colder than the steel blade he held. He was tall, lean, and wore casual clothing.
"Uh… yeah," Benson said, taking a cautious step back.
The man chuckled, shaking his head. "They always drop you green ones in here, thinking it's funny. Name's Malik. Don't bother introducing yourself—you won't last long enough for me to care."
"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, and it's Benson by the way." Benson said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.
Malik leaned in closer, his smirk widening. "Cause I'm so kind here's a tip, rookie: keep your head down, and don't trust anyone. Not even the ones who look friendly."
Benson frowned, his stomach twisting. "What is this place?"
Malik raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
"I was kind of… kidnapped," Benson admitted, his voice lowering.
Malik laughed, loud and sharp. "Kidnapped? You and everyone else, buddy. Welcome to the Trials, where survival isn't just the goal—it's the currency."
Benson opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could, the ground beneath them rumbled.
The arena shifted, the once-flat surface splitting into jagged platforms. Stone pillars erupted from the ground, forming uneven terrain that looked like something out of a nightmare.
The voice overhead returned, cold and unfeeling:
"Trial One: Elimination. Only half will advance. Begin."
The crowd erupted into chaos.
Benson didn't have time to think. Someone lunged at him, a blur of movement and sharp steel. He stumbled back, barely dodging the blade that sliced through the air where he'd just been standing.
"What the hell?!" he yelled, tripping over his own feet as his attacker pressed forward.
It was a woman this time, her eyes wild and her movements fast. She didn't hesitate, swinging her weapon with deadly precision.
Benson scrambled to avoid her strikes, panic clawing at his throat.
"Use me," Greed whispered.
"Now's not the time for your cryptic crap!" Benson snapped, ducking as the blade whistled past his ear.
"Say it."
"Fine! Just do something!"
The familiar rush of power surged through him.
Enhanced speed.
[Enhanced speed recharged. 50 xp consumed]
Benson's vision sharpened, his senses heightened. He moved without thinking, his body reacting faster than his mind. He caught the woman's wrist mid-swing, twisting it with enough force to make her drop the blade.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but Benson didn't stop. He shoved her back, the weapon clattering to the ground between them.
Without hesitation, he grabbed it.
The heaviness of the blade felt strange in his hand, but there was no time to adjust. Someone else was already coming at him, their weapon glowing faintly with an eerie blue light.
Ability? Benson thought.
Benson raised the blade just in time, the clash of metal ringing in his ears.
"You're gonna die here, bastard!" the attacker growled, pushing against him with surprising strength.
Benson gritted his teeth, his arms straining to hold the weapon steady.
"Take it."
"What?"
"His strength. Take it."
Benson hesitated, the words rattling around in his mind like a dangerous temptation.
"Do it, or you die."
He didn't have a choice.
Benson pushed forward, his free hand grabbing the man's arm. A strange, pulling sensation coursed through him, like a thread being yanked from the fabric of reality.
The man's strength faltered, his grip loosening.
Benson didn't stop. He pulled harder, he felt something tugging back at him like the person was fighting back but the strange sensation grew stronger until the man crumpled to the ground, his weapon slipping from his grasp.
Benson stared down at him, panting. The man wasn't dead, but he looked drained, weak, like something vital had been ripped from him.
"What… what did I just do?" Benson whispered.
"You consumed him," Greed said, its tone almost pleased.
Benson's stomach turned, but there was no time to dwell on it. Another attacker was already closing in.
The fight dragged on, chaos erupting around him.
Benson moved on instinct, his body reacting faster than his mind could keep up. He dodged, struck, and consumed, each encounter leaving him more shaken than the last.
By the time the voice overhead returned, the arena was littered with the fallen.
"Trial One complete. Survivors, prepare for the next stage."
Benson stood in the center of the whole craziness, his chest heaving and his hands trembling. Blood—some his, some not—streaked his face and clothes.
Around him, a handful of others remained, their expressions hard and unreadable.
Malik was among them, his smirk still intact. He gave Benson a slow, approving nod.
"Not bad, rookie," he said. "Maybe you're not as useless as you look."
Benson didn't respond.
His eyes were fixed on the arena floor, on the faces of those who hadn't made it.
"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" he muttered.
"Survival," Greed said. "That's all that matters."