Benson didn't sleep much. The sounds of the barracks were too loud—the shuffle of restless bodies, murmured conversations, the occasional snore. Every creak of the old building made him flinch, his mind replaying the gang's threats over and over again.
When the sun finally rose, or what passed for sunrise under the Red Moon, he was already awake. The cold light filtered through the cracks in the walls, casting eerie shadows across the room.
The Overseer entered the barracks not long after, her presence silencing everyone instantly. She strode to the center of the room, her dark armor gleaming faintly, her gaze sweeping across the recruits.
"The qualifying match begins in one hour," she announced. Her voice was calm, almost bored. "Prepare yourselves. Those who fail will not leave the arena alive."
A murmur rippled through the room, but no one dared speak loudly.
Benson sat up slowly, his body stiff and aching. His ribs throbbed, but he ignored the pain. He glanced across the room at the gang. They were smirking, talking quietly among themselves. Two of them met his gaze and grinned.
Benson looked away, his stomach twisting.
Malik sat on the bunk across from him, pulling on his boots. He didn't look at Benson but spoke quietly enough that only he could hear.
"You ready for this?"
"Does it matter?" Benson muttered, rubbing his temples.
Malik shrugged. "It does if you want to live."
Benson snorted, though there was no humor in it. "That's helpful."
Malik stood, adjusting the straps of his gear. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't keep you alive."
Benson didn't reply. Malik walked off, blending into the crowd of recruits gathering their weapons and supplies.
An hour passed quickly. Too quickly.
The recruits were herded into a large, open courtyard surrounded by high walls. The arena. The ground was packed dirt, stained dark in places that Benson didn't want to think about.
The Overseer stood on a raised platform at the edge of the arena, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd.
"Listen carefully," she began, her voice carrying easily over the murmurs. "Today's match is simple. You will fight in pairs. Win, and you move on. Lose, and you die. Strength, skill, strategy—it's all up to you."
The crowd shifted uneasily. Benson could feel the tension rising, the fear thick in the air.
"The matches will be random," the Overseer continued. "No complaints, no excuses." She gestured, and a large screen flickered to life behind her, names scrolling rapidly across it.
Benson's stomach twisted as he watched the names. His own appeared after a moment, paired with someone he didn't recognize: Darnell Frey.
The name meant nothing to him, but that didn't make him feel any better.
One by one, the matches were called. Recruits stepped into the arena, their movements tense and deliberate. Some fought savagely, others hesitated, unsure.
The first death came quickly—a sharp gasp, a spray of blood, and silence.
Benson felt his chest tighten as he watched. This wasn't a game. This wasn't training. It was survival.
His turn came sooner than he expected.
"Benson Lovejoy. Darnell Frey."
The Overseer's voice was flat, emotionless.
Benson stepped forward, his body tense. The crowd parted, and he saw his opponent—a tall, wiry man with a cocky grin. Darnell's confidence was clear in every step he took, the way he held his weapon loosely, like he didn't consider Benson a threat.
"Good luck, D-Rank," Darnell said, his grin widening.
Benson didn't reply. He stepped into the arena, his heart pounding.
The Overseer raised a hand, and the match began.
Darnell moved fast, closing the distance between them in seconds. Benson barely had time to react, dodging to the side as Darnell's blade sliced through the air where he'd been standing.
Pain shot through his ribs as he moved, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.
Darnell came at him again, his attacks relentless. Benson managed to dodge a few, but he wasn't fast enough. A sharp blow to his shoulder sent him stumbling back, and he felt the cold sting of steel slicing his arm.
He hissed in pain, his vision blurring for a moment.
"You're too slow," Darnell taunted, his grin never fading.
Benson's grip on his weapon tightened. He knew he couldn't match Darnell's speed or skill. Not like this.
The hunger stirred inside him, sharp and insistent. His vision dimmed for a moment, and he felt it again—that pulse, that weight pressing down on him.
[Mission Reminder: Kill Every Last One.]
The words flashed in his vision, clear and unyielding.
Benson blinked, his breathing ragged.
Darnell lunged at him again, and this time, Benson didn't move.
The blade stopped an inch from his throat.
The air around them felt different, heavier.
Darnell's grin faltered for the first time, his eyes darting around as if searching for something.
Benson didn't notice. He was focused on the weight inside him, the hunger that burned like a fire.
For a moment, time seemed to slow.
A shadow flickered above them, massive and formless, its edges shifting like smoke.
The shadow loomed over the arena, its presence suffocating. A gaping mouth stretched wide, its darkness swallowing the light.
No one else noticed it. Not even Benson.
But the audience could feel the change, a shiver running through the crowd as if the air had turned colder.
The shadow lingered for only a second, then vanished.
Benson moved.
[Enhanced speed recharged. 50Xp consumed]
With a surge of strength he didn't fully understand, he knocked Darnell's weapon aside and slammed his fist into the man's jaw. Darnell stumbled back, surprise flashing across his face.
Benson didn't stop. He pressed forward, his movements more fluid, more precise. He didn't think about the pain in his ribs or the blood dripping down his arm.
Darnell tried to fight back, but the shift in momentum was clear.
Benson's final blow sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.
The arena fell silent.
The Overseer raised a hand.
"Winner: Benson Lovejoy."
The crowd murmured, some in shock, others in disbelief.
Benson stood there, breathing heavily, his fists clenched. The hunger inside him hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown stronger.
He looked down at Darnell, the thought creeping into his mind unbidden.
Kill him.
His hands twitched, trembling with hesitation. Darnell lay unconscious, vulnerable, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The crowd was murmuring, the Overseer looking away to focus on the next pair being called.
Benson's heart raced. The hunger inside him surged, roaring louder than ever, drowning out any lingering sense of morality.
"Do it," the voice in his head whispered. "End him. Take what's his."
Benson didn't know if the voice was his own or something else entirely. His body moved before he could stop himself.
He dropped to his knees beside Darnell and gripped the knife that had fallen nearby. The edge caught the dim red light filtering into the arena, and for a moment, Benson hesitated.
Then the hunger tightened its grip on him, and the hesitation vanished. He plunged the blade into Darnell's chest without a second thought.
Darnell's body jerked once, then stilled. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, a mix of shock and approval.
A notification flashed in Benson's vision:
[You have killed Darnell Frey. 500 XP awarded.]
The hunger pulsed with satisfaction, and Benson's vision sharpened briefly before the wave of euphoria ebbed away.
He stared at the blood staining his hands, his mind blank. The notification blinked again, as if mocking him.
[Greed grows stronger.]
He stood shakily, the knife still clutched in his hand. The Overseer's gaze flicked toward him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she said nothing. It was as if killing Darnell had broken no rules, only served as further proof of the Red Moon's cruel logic.
The crowd parted as Benson made his way back to the sidelines, silent except for the pounding of his own heartbeat.
Killing Darnell hadn't just been survival.
It had been rewarding
The Overseer's eyes lingered on him for a moment before she turned to the next match.
Benson walked off the field, his mind racing.
That voice in his head, the one that told him to kill Darnell. It was mine.
Killing humans is advantageous.