"So," she said. "Protect the village, yes?"

The laughter from Team One finally died, cut clean in the throat.

The bulky Red Team leader’s grin thinned into something sharper and far more serious. Han Islat’s eyes narrowed as he studied the uncanny monster and the fact of what just happened beyond the portal, every trace of easy confidence gone.

Above them, the bunny announcer smiled sweetly.

"As I said," she chirped. "Lucky... maybe. Since that’s not really worse."

Then she raised one finger.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Every eye lifted.

"If the village falls before sunrise..."

Her smile widened.

"You all die there too."

Silence hit harder than shouting ever could.

Then she clapped happily.

"Okay! Team One, have fun!"

A short pause followed.

Then she blinked.

"Wait, sorry." She tilted her head. "I need to assign the other teams first. So... stay there for a bit."

Just like that.

Casual.

Like she hadn’t just tied their lives to a village full of unseen nightmares.

Team One stood stiff in front of the portal, nobody rushing forward now. A few who had been laughing earlier looked pale. Others avoided eye contact entirely.

Han Islat, however, wasn’t looking at the portal.

He was looking at his own people.

Counting faces.

Watching their fear.

Measuring who might break first.

Beside him, the Red Team leader remained motionless, but her eyes had changed. The mockery was gone. In its place was a fierce brightness, something between battle thrill and hunger.

Not confidence.

Excitement.

The kind dangerous people got when things became real.

"Heh," she muttered under her breath.

Above them, the announcer flicked her fingers again.

The great wheel behind her roared back to life, colors blurring into a spinning halo as it clicked through one scenario after another. Her gaze drifted lazily toward Team Two.

Black and Purple.

The great wheel behind the announcer began to slow, each click sharper than the last as the colors passed beneath the pointer one by one. The arena watched in tense silence, people unconsciously holding their breath as if that could influence where it stopped.

Click.

Click.

Then stillness.

The bunny announcer didn’t even bother turning around. She simply smiled first, like she already knew.

"Survive as test subjects in a lab."

A brief pause followed.

Then she winced with exaggerated sympathy, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oof."

Only then did she glance back over her shoulder at the result, giving Team Two a small apologetic wave.

"Unlucky," she said brightly. "Good luck, I guess."

Before anyone could protest, a second portal split open in front of Black and Purple Team. Cold white light poured across the arena floor, sterile and harsh enough to sting the eyes.

Inside was no village.

No sky.

No wind.

No sense of distance.

Only endless corridors of steel and glass stretching in multiple directions, lined with sealed chamber doors, flickering overhead lights, warning signs written in languages none of them recognized, and a constant mechanical hum that sounded less like machines working and more like something breathing through metal lungs.

Then—

Something slammed against one of the glass walls.

Hard enough to send cracks racing across its surface.

Several members of Team Two step back instantly, stumbling backward. One woman let out a short scream before clapping a hand over her mouth.

The announcer raised one finger, cheerful as ever.

"Rules!" she said. "You will remain inside until sunrise."

She counted across her fingers one by one.

"You may hide."

"You may run."

"You may cooperate."

"You may cry."

"Whatever you do there I don’t care, you can even romance a monster if you want."

A few nervous laughs escaped the crowd below.

Then she grinned.

"But the things inside were designed to adapt."

The laughter died immediately.

She continued, delighted by the shift in mood.

"They track patterns."

"They learn routines."

"They remember where you hide."

"They open doors."

A ripple of panic spread through Team Two.

"What?!"

"No!"

"That’s impossible!"

"Change it!"

One member of Purple Team had already turned to run before two teammates grabbed him by both arms and dragged him back, shouting over each other.

The announcer leaned farther over the railing, chin resting in her palm.

"Oh, and one more tiny detail," she added sweetly. "Every hour, containment systems fail a little more."

As if on cue, the portal lights flickered.

The sterile corridor inside dimmed... then returned.

Somewhere in the distance, metal scraped slowly against metal.

Then again.

Then from another hallway.

Then several more at once.

No one could tell how many things were moving.

Above them, the upper stands finally erupted.

For the first time all day, the nobles and spectators rose to their feet in genuine excitement. Cheers thundered downward, mixed with laughter, applause, and the sharp voices of people already arguing over who would survive longest.

"YES!"

"Now this is entertainment!"

"Finally!"

"They’re dead in an hour!"

Some pointed into the portal.

Some shouted wagers to each other.

Some were laughing so hard they had to grip the railings.

Below, Team Two stood frozen before the white lit entrance to their nightmare.

Above, the bunny announcer beamed like a host whose party had finally started.

"There it is," she said softly, eyes glittering. "That’s the energy I wanted."

Below that roaring wave of applause, Team Two broke in the opposite direction entirely.

Not excitement.

Not anticipation.

Panic.

It started with one voice— sharp, cracking, too loud— then another cut over it, then three more piled in at once until it collapsed into a mess of overlapping shouts that didn’t even try to make sense anymore.

And then—

Someone at the front leaned forward.

Too close.

Too curious.

"Wait," he muttered, voice dropping as his eyes fixed on something deeper inside the portal. "There’s— someone in there... snd he’s wearing a strange green clothes."

The shouting didn’t stop at first.

But a few nearby turned anyway.

Then more.

Like a ripple.

Their attention pulled, one by one, toward the same point.

Inside the corridor—

A figure appeared.

A man.

Dressed in what looked like a torn green uniform, stumbling down the hallway at full speed, boots slamming unevenly against the white polished concrete floor. He kept looking over his shoulder, panic written so clearly across his face it barely needed context.

"HELP!" he was shouting, voice ragged, breaking mid-word as he ran. "SOMEONE— OPEN!"

He never finished.

Because something answered him.

A sound tore through the corridor—

A scream.

But not right.

Not human.

It wasn’t loud in the way a voice should be loud. It felt hollow, dragged, like it came from something that didn’t have the right parts to make it, stretched thin and forced into existence anyway. It echoed too long, too uneven, crawling along the walls instead of bouncing off them.

Everyone outside the portal went still.

The man inside froze for half a step—

Just enough.

Then—

It appeared.

Behind him.

Tall.

Far too tall.

A white figure unfolded into view like it had always been there, just waiting to be noticed. Its body was stretched thin to the bone, limbs unnaturally long, joints bending just slightly off where they should. Its arms hung low, almost brushing the floor, fingers twitching with a slow, deliberate curiosity.

The soldier tried to turn—

Too late.

The thing moved.

Not fast.

Just suddenly closer.

Its arm extended, impossibly long, closing the distance in a way that didn’t match the space between them.

It caught him.

Everything stopped.

Not just inside the portal.

Outside too.

Team Two stood frozen, every sound strangled into silence as they watched.

The soldier struggled— violently at first, kicking, twisting, hands clawing at the things arm like he could peel it off. His mouth was open, screaming something no one could hear anymore, the sound swallowed by that same unnatural quiet pressing in from all sides.

The creature didn’t react.

It simply held him there.

Still.

Studying.

Its head tilted slowly, as if examining something fragile, something new.

Then—

The lights flickered.

And then—

A sound slipped through the silence.

Soft.

Small.

Crack.