The city pulsed with life, neon lights flickering across rain-slick streets. Car engines growled in the distance, blending with the occasional shout of drunken men and the distant wail of a siren. It was a night like any other.
Yet, deep in his bones, Damien felt something was off.
He lay on a luxurious bed, the silk sheets cool against his bare skin. The woman beside him moved, her soft fingers tracing lazy circles across his chest. She was beautiful almost like a goddess who had descended on earth—long dark hair cascading down her back, skin smooth as porcelain, as she moved two her two mounds of flesh also rhythmically pulsed.
Damien felt slightly dazed looking at her.
Everything about her seemed perfect. Too perfect.
"You're quiet tonight," she murmured, pressing closer. Her voice filled with a strong pull.
Damien smirked, running a hand through her long silky black hair. "Just thinking."
"Thinking?" She let out a soft chuckle, her breath warm against his skin. "That doesn't sound like you."
He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Maybe I'm trying something new."
The truth was, he wasn't in the mood to talk. He had everything he'd ever wanted—money, power, and fear wrapped around his finger like a leash. No one dared cross him, not anymore. He had climbed to the top, ruling his little corner of the underworld with an iron grip.
Then why did he feel so uneasy?
His instincts had kept him alive for years, warning him of trouble before it arrived. And tonight, they were screaming.
"Something wrong?" he asked, studying the woman's face.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—but she hesitated. A shadow flickered in her eyes, a hesitation so brief that most wouldn't have noticed. But how could Damien fail to notice such a thing? After all, he knew the woman like the back of his hand. The woman's reaction was very strange, she wasn't like her usual self at all.
Badum! Bandum!
Without him realizing his heart rate had started to rise.
"You should leave the city," she whispered suddenly.
His body tensed. "Why?"
She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. The city lights outside the window cast an eerie glow over her face. Sadness. Fear. Resignation.
Before she could answer—
BOOM.
The room exploded, sending shockwaves flying in every direction.
Heat. Pain. A deafening roar filled his skull. The walls shattered around him, glass spraying in all directions. He barely had time to register what had happened before he was flung backward, his body slamming against the wall with a forceful thud.
Damien's ears rang. His vision blurred. Smoke filled his lungs as flames licked the ceiling.
He felt the scorching pain of being burnt alive, the blood inside his body boiling and turning into vapour.
His eyes refused to stay open, only with the last bit of his willpower that he resisted the urge to close his eyes.
Not until, he took a look at her and why?
Through the chaos, he saw her. Or rather, what remained of her.
His mind refused to process it. She had exploded.
Not the room. Her.
One moment the woman had been beside him, warm and alive, and the next—gone. Her flesh had been torn apart by the force of the blast, her bones shattered, her blood splattered across the burning walls.
Damien's eyes flashed with understanding.
A trap. She had been the bomb.
But he couldn't just why?
His breathing grew shallow. His body refused to move. Blood pooled beneath him, warmth seeping into his skin.
He was dying.
The irony stung. He had survived gang wars, assassination attempts, and betrayals, only to be taken out like this—naked in a burning room, caught off guard by the very thing he had allowed to get close to him.
His vision darkened. The world faded.
And then, he fell.
—
Damien didn't know how much time had passed.
Second, hours or maybe years.
Shouldn't I be dead?
But when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.
Feeling lost, Damien scanned his surroundings.
A vast expanse stretched before him, endless and void. Thousands of people surrounded him, their faces painted in confusion and fear. Some were young, others old. Some carried the wounds of violent deaths—gunshots, stab wounds, even missing limbs.
What is this place? And who are these people?
There were many questions in his head.
He tried to move, but his body felt different. Lighter. Like he wasn't entirely real.
Suddenly, Damien's breathing stagnated, strange seemed to ripple and quake.
A heavy presence filled the air. Something ancient. Damien felt an indifferent gaze landing on his body.
Just as he was thinking who was looking at him, the space ripped open, then, the throne appeared.
Damien felt as if something heavy was placed on his shoulders almost causing his knees to collapse.
His condition was slightly better among the crowd, some of the weaker ones had already fainted.
Just as he was unable to hold any longer.
A massive construct of bone and gold, floating above them, glowing with an otherworldly light. And on it sat a being that was so gigantic that his human being was unable to process it.
A towering figure draped in a robe woven from darkness and stardust. A golden mask concealed its face, emotionless and still. But its eyes—they burned like dying stars.
When it spoke, the very air trembled.
"Welcome to the Battle of After life."
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Murmurs turned to whispers. Whispers turned to panic.
"Is this some sort of elaborate joke?" A young man with round spectacles said.
"Where is the camera guy, quickly come out, i don't have time for this shit, my client is waiting for me.." A woman with heavy makeup on her face said.
However not everyone panicked, some were Damien observing their surroundings carefully.
The voice ignored these people and continued, deep and resonant, carrying an inescapable weight.
"You are dead. But not yet erased. You have one final chance. A test of your worth."
Words appeared in the air, glowing in blood-red light.
[Battle Royale of Souls].
[The top 10 will be reborn].
[The rest will cease to exist].
[Refusal to kill results in immediate erasure].
Damien stared at the floating text. A game?
Unlike some Damien didn't think this was a dream, he still vividly remembered the searing heat and soul crushing pain.
He had undoubtedly died.
If the voice were to be believed he could get a second chance at life.
So he was going to fight, no one could stop him.
He had fought for survival his whole life, clawed his way to the top. And now? He was expected to do it all over again, but with his very existence on the line.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. He couldn't help it.
This was insane.
"You're laughing?" A bald middle aged man near him cried out, horrified.
Damien grinned, stretching his fingers. "I've been playing this game since the day I was born."
Somewhere in the distance, a gong rang.
The battle for the second chance had begun.