The next day's dawn broke over the city, a sweltering morning that promised yet another day of thick air and rampant misery. But for millions, today was different. Today was the day. The wait had been torture for the masses, torment for the blood-addicted fans of the sick tournament Carl Stanton had created.In every corner of the city—within the opulent districts of the elite who had escaped Carl’s purge, in the damp basements of misery-infested suburbs, in the improvised shelters of vagabonds, and in the secret hideouts of participants like Jack, Kloe, and Alec—who, after a fleeting moment of peace at Kloe’s home, had found another anonymous refuge—expectation had become a fever.The screens of the Absolute Millionaire System flickered on. Not just personal devices, but massive projections on plazas and skyscrapers, feeding the thirst of a spectacle-hungry population. Betting had now become a highly lucrative business, lining the pockets of the cleverest players.Suddenly, a deafeni

The Citadel stood, imposing and opulent, a testament to Carl Stanton's absolute power. It was his pedestal, beyond the sight of the wretched streets of the spirit world, where Absolute Millionaire Number Zero reveled in his latest creation. The throne room, a sanctuary of polished marble and gleaming steel, was bathed in a cold light that highlighted the centerpiece of his macabre work: his new throne.It was no ordinary throne. This architectural abomination had been meticulously assembled from the skulls of all the traitors who dared to conceive a coup against him. Each empty socket, each fractured jaw, narrated a story of failed attack and brutal punishment.But they weren't the only ones on the throne. Among the bony remains mingled the skulls of wandering millionaires who, panicked and desperate, had died by the dozens trying to force their way into the impenetrable Citadel, seeking refuge from the horrors lurking in the slums and the dark forest. These were the remains of those

The air in the Citadel was thick, saturated with the suffering brought on by the deaths of all those wandering millionaires who had tried to gain entry—and with the expensive perfume of those who had succeeded. It was a life of madness that many were beginning to get used to.Carl Stanton, Absolute Millionaire Number Zero, sat upon his throne of skulls, a macabre monument to his unstoppable ascent. The polished bones creaked softly beneath his weight, and that sound was music to his ears. Only someone like him could find amusement in such a way with the corpses of his enemies.In front of him, the vibrant hologram of the Euphoria App’s broadcast projected the brutal reality of the human world. Drones—his omnipresent eyes and ears—transmitted the signal directly to the spiritual world, and simultaneously, to the screens of other users watching his game.His gaze was fixed on the image: Jack shooting Fred, the “Bone Eater,” squarely in the forehead. A clean shot, dead center between the

The Citadel flickered with the reflection of millions of screens, each one displaying the notification from the Euphoria App. Carl Stanton, now fully returned from his twisted retrospection, watched as his empire of chaos continued to spin, relentless. Fred’s massacre, Jack’s defiance—it was all part of his design. And now, the stage was set for a new battle.A now-familiar hum, the sound of broadcasting drones, intensified over the city. The transmission lit up on every device, on every screen. The insatiable public prepared to enjoy another show about to begin.At the center of the projections, two faces. Two names that fate had chosen to pit against each other in the second round. The first, a middle-aged man in a flawless tailored suit, despite the dust and ruin surrounding him. His gaze was cold, calculating, a sharp intelligence gleaming in his eyes. Perhaps the most well-known contestant of all: THEO WALTON.His description read:[ ELITE MILLIONAIRE...STATS: HIGH.PREVIOUS VIC