Wayne stood frozen, his breath steady despite the storm inside his mind. The sheer scale of The Eternal Trial was overwhelming—countless contestants, an unnatural sky, and a battlefield stretching into the horizon. Yet, amid all of this, one thing caught his attention.
His own reflection.
The floor beneath him was not just metal—it was polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the eerie glow of the sky above. In its surface, Wayne caught a glimpse of himself for the first time.
He stared.
A young man looked back at him, his face sharp and symmetrical, with smooth, pale skin that contrasted with the dark strands of his tousled hair. It was messy but not unkempt, falling just over his forehead, framing his face with effortless precision. His eyes—pastel pink—were the most striking feature, glowing faintly under the artificial light. They were unnatural, ethereal, holding an intensity that unsettled even himself.
A black glove covered his right hand, the leather smooth against his fingertips as he raised it to his face. He tilted his head slightly, watching as his own reflection mimicked him. His expression was unreadable, a perfect mask of quiet calculation, yet beneath it lay something deeper—an emptiness where memories should be.
His attire was just as peculiar.
A crisp white coat draped over his shoulders, blending elegance with something clinical, as if he belonged in a world that was neither battlefield nor laboratory, yet somehow both. Beneath it, a black dress shirt and a loosely knotted dark blue tie gave him a refined but slightly disheveled look—someone who had once cared about appearances but had long since abandoned the effort.
Everything about him felt deliberate, yet unfamiliar.
He clenched his fist, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could explain who he was. But the past remained elusive, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.
A sharp voice snapped him back to reality.
"Hey. Eyes up."
Wayne lifted his gaze, meeting the cold stare of the raven-haired woman from before. Her amber eyes flicked toward the sprawling coliseum around them.
"You're not the only one waking up to a nightmare," she murmured.
Wayne followed her gaze—and for the first time, truly saw the others.
This was no mere gathering of humans.
Across the massive platforms, figures of all shapes and sizes stood in tense silence, each seemingly plucked from a different world, a different reality.
Some bore the unmistakable features of monsters—hulking, beast-like creatures with claws sharp enough to tear through steel. Others shimmered with an ethereal glow, their forms barely tethered to the material world, like spirits forced into a mortal shell. There were humanoid figures with elongated limbs and eyes that burned like embers, creatures draped in robes woven from shadows, and warriors clad in armor that pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly light.
The air crackled with power, the scent of blood and ozone lingering like an unspoken promise of violence.
This wasn't just a game. It was a war.
Wayne's pastel pink eyes narrowed as he studied the chaos unfolding around him. Some contestants were already forming groups, whispering in hushed tones. Others eyed their surroundings with thinly veiled hostility, as if preparing for the inevitable bloodshed.
And then there were the watchers.
High above the coliseum, beyond the reach of any mortal hand, a row of thrones loomed in the sky. Silhouetted figures sat upon them, their faces obscured by distance and shadow. They did not speak, did not move, yet their presence alone sent a chill down Wayne's spine.
Who were they? The creators of The Eternal Trial? The rulers of this twisted game?
The ground beneath them trembled once more, and a new voice—mechanical and absolute—filled the coliseum.
"Trial One: The Culling. Begins in sixty seconds."
A hush fell over the crowd.
The scarred mercenary cursed under his breath. "No time for introductions, then."
Wayne exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steady despite the rising tension. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know why he was here.
But one thing was clear.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to act.
And fast.