Darkness.
Silence reigned, deep and eternal, until a whisper stirred through the void like a breath caught between worlds. A hundred thousand souls… Then came light — not like fire or sun, but something deeper. Cold. Ethereal. Shapes began to form. People. Thousands upon thousands, blinking into existence inside a vast, surreal realm. The ground curved strangely beneath them — as if they were standing inside the belly of a world, not upon it. A giant floating orb hovered in the sky above, pulsing with light. Structures twisted in impossible geometry. The sky cracked in violet veins. This was no heaven. Nor was it hell. Dragged here by fate… and my will. In another place — far beyond what the people in the orb could see — sat the old woman. She rocked gently in a chair inside a dim room, lit only by flickering candles. A strange, feline creature purred by her feet. In her hands, she held it — the glowing orb. The very heart of the realm. "You are not heroes," she said quietly, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Just citizens." — Inside the orb, panic had already begun to grow. People clung to one another. Some cried. Others screamed. Groups were forming — fast. Alliances based on fear, instinct, or sheer luck. "Seven days," the old woman's voice echoed in the sky. "That is all you have." Above them, seven glowing monoliths slowly rose into the air like gods waking from slumber. They radiated with strange energy, each color different — crimson, silver, obsidian, emerald, violet, gold, and blue. "Train. Betray. Manipulate." Near the edge of the crowd, a girl sat alone. Young. Fragile. Her knees were pulled to her chest, tears streaking down her cheeks. A soft glow surrounded her, though she didn't seem to notice. Her name was Eira. Bjorn saw her. For a moment, through the noise and chaos, they locked eyes. He didn't know why he noticed her — or why it mattered. But something in her eyes felt… familiar. Wounded. "You…" she whispered, barely audible, "feel it too, don't you?" Bjorn said nothing. But he didn't look away. — Far away, the old woman's smile twitched as she watched through the orb. Her reflection in the glass warped. No longer human. Her face stretched unnaturally — fangs, multiple eyes, skin like cracked porcelain. "Slay," she hissed. "Deceive. Survive." Within the orb, chaos mounted. Fights broke out. Theft. Screams. The idea of order dissolved. Trust shattered. People fought over food that hadn't yet run out. "Only one faction wins a wish," she said, brushing the cat gently as it stirred. "Only one walks away." She rose from her chair, cradling the orb in both hands. Then, delicately, she placed it upon a velvet pillow, as if it were her most precious child. She smiled — not wickedly, but softly. Lovingly. "Fight like your soul depends on it…" she said. Because it did. Then, leaning close to the orb, her voice barely a whisper: "Make it worth my time.”Latest Chapter
chapter 28: a face to bite, a name to curse
They say beauty is a blessing. They lied. Beauty is a weapon — and I was born holding it. I bent the world with a glance,made gods and beasts alike kneel for a touch they could never keep. Even in this cursed realm, thrown here by that wrinkled witch, I believed my charm would conquer everything. But then came the two who would not look at me. Lucien ......pride carved into flesh. A man too immaculate to be tempted. And Bjorn......the broken wolf, silent, scarred, and maddeningly indifferent. Their refusal was a wound… and a challenge. I craved the taste of what denied me. To chase Lucien is to chase war......and I am not a fool who wastes her soldiers before Walpurgis. So I chose the smaller beast. The one who defies beauty itself. The one who makes my hunger feel human. --- The drums had gone quiet. Only the wind spoke now— a low, rhythmic moan that slipped between the torn veils and half-burned lanterns of the Lust camp. The moon bled down like an opene
chapter 27: the critic and the flame
The eve of Walpurgis dripped crimson beneath the moon. Its light seeped through the thin fabric of the Sloth faction’s tent — a slow pulse of red that moved like breath.Inside, the air was dense with the scent of herbs and burnt incense. The canvas walls sagged slightly, weighed down by damp mist. A small brazier hissed weakly in the corner, giving off a lazy glow that barely chased the shadows away.Aira sat on a mat, her fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty cup. The world outside murmured — distant laughter, the crackle of torches, the restless wind.Her gaze drifted toward the flicker of light that cut through the tent’s entrance.Bjorn’s name still echoed in her mind — captured by the Lust leader.Her heartbeat quickened. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, quietly, she began to rise.The shift of fabric, the creak of the floor mat — that was enough to stir the figure reclining on the couch nearby.Lan, the Slot
chapter 26: eve of the red moon
(volume 2)The night before Walpurgis bled quietly into the Lust faction's camp. Moonlight dripped through torn silk canopies and broken lanterns, painting everything in shades of pale desire and decay. Perfume and blood mingled in the air — sweet, cloying, wrong. Bjorn stirred. His body screamed in protest. Every muscle felt torn. His wrists were swollen and raw, skin rubbed bloody where the ropes had bitten too deep. He'd fought before — tried to break free when they first dragged him here — but exhaustion had conquered rebellion. Now he hung against the log, bound by thick cords slick with sweat and rain. His breath came in short, cracked bursts. His vision swam. The world around him was sound before shape — laughter, whispers, the faint rhythm of drums somewhere in the dark. He blinked. And then he saw them. Figures — dozens of them — forming a half-circle around him. The Lust
chapter 25: the strong survive
The night air was heavy, the echoes of music and drunken cheer still spilling faintly from the great hall. But outside the dojo gates, the mood was far colder.Seven disciples stumbled in through the courtyard, their robes dirt-stained, their lanterns dim. Faces grim, they bowed low before the dojo master, their leader stepping forward.Disciple (bowing, voice low):"Master… we searched the roads, the riverbank, even the shrines in the woods. Ashura… he was nowhere to be found."The words rippled through the silence like a blade.Lan clenched his fists, teeth grinding. His voice cracked with restrained anger as he turned to his father.Lan:"Father, this is why I told you to let me go myself! You think your disciples could bring him back? He's my brother — I would've found him!"For the first time since the duel, the dojo master rose fully from his seat. His presence silenced even the murmurs of the crowd still lingering in the hall. His eyes were sharp, unyielding, and his words rang
chapter 24: the silent departure
Ashura's body, battered and broken, sways on his feet. Blood trickles down his lips, his arm hanging uselessly at his side. His vision blurs, but he refuses to kneel. For a heartbeat, the arena goes silent as his body finally gives in.Slow motion fall:His knees buckle, his body falling forward. In his mind, fragmented thoughts echo:"So this… is my limit? Life… it's never been fair. No matter how much I try… I'm always… the shadow…"His body collapses with a heavy thud against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the hall. Dust rises, mixing with the dark stain of blood beneath him.---"HANA!!!" a voice gasps — it's Hana, breaking through the stunned silence. She rushes past the guards, tears streaming down her face as she falls beside her brother."ASHURA!!" she cries, clutching his limp body, shaking him as though her voice alone could drag him back. His head rolls slightly, his face pale, chest rising weakly but still alive.---The silence shatters.Half the crowd erupts in ro
chapter 23 : ashura's stand
The Sloth leader leaned back against the crooked trunk, his usually half-closed eyes flickering with a rare sharpness. His voice, though slow, carried a weight that made Aira listen. Sloth Leader: "I was from the family of dojo owners." Aira blinked, surprised. Aira: "Even in this civilization… dojos existed?" He gave a small nod. Sloth Leader: "Of course they did. Discipline, combat, tradition—these things outlive civilizations. My family's dojo wasn't just for fighting… it was our bloodline, our pride. Generations before me trained under the same roof, passing down every technique as if it were scripture." He paused, his tone dragging as if remembering old dust-covered days. Sloth Leader (continuing): "I was the one next in line… destined to inherit it all." Aira frowned softly. Aira: "Wait… but you just told me y
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