The night air was damp and heavy, clinging to Ethan Cole’s hoodie like a second skin. His bicycle wobbled along the slick road, its chain squeaking in protest. The faint glow of campus lights shimmered in the distance, mocking him with the promise of comfort he could never afford. He peddled faster cause he wanted to go home and finish up his assignments.The weight of the insulated delivery bag on his back pressed down harder than the rain. The smell of pizza—cheese, garlic, pepperoni—saturated his clothes until it felt like even his skin reeked of it. He hated that smell now. To others, it meant warmth, indulgence, maybe even happiness. To Ethan, it was poverty, humiliation, the taste of every corner he’d been forced to cut just to survive. His mates were in the dorm, waiting for their pizza while he was here with his torn clothes and worn out shoes, struggling to get them their pizza on time.He muttered under his breath, voice lost in the patter of rain. “One more delivery, E

The heavy iron door groaned shut behind them, sealing with a final clang that echoed through their ’ bones. For a moment, no one spoke. The silence pressed in, broken only by ragged breathing, the shuffle of exhausted feet, and the distant hum of the system’s unseen machinery.Then torches flickered to life along the walls, illuminating a long corridor that stretched ahead. At the far end, glowing letters hovered in the air:[Infirmary Access – 100 Points][Food – 80 Points][Water – 100 Points]The students froze, eyes darting between the glowing signs and each other.“What the hell is this now?” muttered Marcus, still half-carrying Sophia, whose leg was still bent at a sick angle. “We’ve already killed monsters, and now we’re supposed to pay for… what? For being alive?”Sophia winced, clutching his shoulder. “Marcus… I need treatment. I can’t walk on this.”“Treatment?” one of the boys snapped from behind. He was tall, with messy curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. His name

The survivors stumbled out of the clearing, their bodies trembling, their clothes scorched and smeared with ash. The glowing doorway faded behind them, sealing the Night of Shadows away.What greeted them was not another nightmare, but a vast chamber carved of smooth black stone. Strange lights flickered faintly on the walls, pulsing with blue light, almost like veins. The ground was even, the air warmer. At the center lay something completely unexpected—mats, water jugs, and sealed ration packs stacked neatly in a pile.The system voice chimed in.[Interlude Chamber – Level One]Time Allocation: 2 Hours Rest.Combat Suspended. Recovery Recommended.For the first time since the game began, there was silence. No snarls in the dark, no dripping blood, no countdown in their ears. Just the faint hum of the chamber.Some collapsed immediately, gulping down water until their throats burned. Others tore into the ration packs—dense bars that tasted of chalk but felt like heaven after fear and

The arena was silent, suffocating, waiting for the next cruelty. The players stood trembling, bloodied, still reeling from the forced battles. The walls groaned, shifting, until the black stone field stretched wide like an endless battlefield.The voice came, sharp and merciless:[Quest Three – Part II: The Final Culling.]Objective: Kill.Requirement: Earn 10,000 points in thirty minutes.Reward: Advancement to Intermediate Level.Failure: Elimination.The air thickened with dread. Students gasped, sobbed, cursed.“No… no, they can’t make us…”“This is murder! We’re not—”The countdown began.[30:00]And then chaos erupted.—Screams tore through the field as desperate players turned on each other. Makeshift weapons clashed—blades scavenged from fallen monsters, rocks, pipes. Flesh split, blood sprayed, bodies crumpled. The system chimed relentlessly:[Player Eliminated.][Player Eliminated.]Each death was a number, a cold notification. Each scream was a reminder of the horror.Etha

The chamber smelled faintly of ozone, like the air before a lightning strike. As the thirty survivors shuffled into the new room, the walls pulsed with three towering icons—Combat, Regeneration, and Utility—each a column of light that hummed softly. Above them, in letters that shimmered and refused to be ignored, the system announced in its unblinking voice:[Intermediate Level Skill Allocation]Choose one path: Combat / Regeneration / Utility.Selections are permanent.Target for Mastery: 20,000 points to reach Master Level.Choose wisely.People stared, jaws slack, fingers twitching. This time the system didn’t offer weapons or trinkets. It offered identity: what they would become in this game.Marcus was already grinning like a man who’d found his prize. “Ah — power,” he said, as if the idea of Combat had been waiting under his pillow. He stepped forward at once, shadowing the Combat column with a swagger that made a few people try to laugh and a few more scowl.“Maybe I’ll take Re