Then—
"Which means…"
The air shifted. Subtly.
"Those of you still alive…"
"…you pass."
A low rumble spread through the floor.
Then—
At the center of the prison—
Space twisted.
Distorted.
And—
Opened.
A swirling portal tore into existence.
Dark.
Unstable.
Pulling faintly at everything around it.
The voice spoke again.
"That—"
"…is your way to the next round."
A brief pause. Then, lighter—
"Don't take too long."
The edges of the portal flickered.
Unstable.
"It won't stay open forever."
A beat.
"About a minute should be enough."
Then—
Cold. Final.
"Anyone who doesn't make it…"
"…will be eliminated."
The meaning was clear. No ambiguity. No mercy.
Around them—
The survivors reacted instantly.
Some ran without hesitation—desperation driving them forward.
Others hesitated—watching. Calculating.
A few turned on each other again—trying to reduce the number further before moving.
The boy stiffened. Eyes locked onto the portal.
"…That's—"
His voice was tight.
"That's our chance—"
Draven didn't move immediately.
His gaze stayed on the portal. Studying it. Measuring the flicker, the instability, the pull.
Then—
He stepped forward. Chains dragging behind him.
**Clink…**
"…Yeah."
Flat.
"Let's go."
The boy didn't wait.
He moved instantly—running toward it.
Because now—
There was no time left to think.
Only—move.
Behind them—
The prison echoed one last time with footsteps, shouts, and desperation.
As the survivors rushed toward whatever waited next, the pull of the portal grew stronger.
Not enough to drag them in—but enough to remind everyone—
*Time was running out.*
The boy pushed forward, weaving through bodies, slipping past those who hesitated, those who shoved their way ahead.
His eyes stayed locked on the swirling darkness.
*Just reach it.*
*Just get through—*
Behind him—
**Clink… clink…**
Draven walked.
Same pace. Same calm.
Even now.
Even with the portal seconds away from closing.
Even with people rushing past him.
Some glanced at him—at the chains still binding his body—confusion flashing across their faces.
*Why is he still walking?*
*Why isn't he running?*
But no one dared to stop him.
No one dared to touch him.
Because those who had seen—knew better.
—
The boy reached the edge first.
The pull hit him harder now. Wind tugging at his clothes. At his ears. At his tail.
He turned slightly—looking back.
"…Sir!"
Urgency. Real.
"Hurry—!"
The portal flickered violently, its edges distorting.
Behind them—
A scream.
Someone tripped—got dragged back—another stepped over him without hesitation.
Because now—
It was survival. Nothing else.
—
Draven stepped closer. Chains dragging louder now against the stone.
**Clink…**
He didn't speed up. Didn't rush. His eyes remained on the portal—reading it. Understanding it.
*Unstable… but controlled.*
*A transport gate.*
*A one-way push.*
His gaze flicked once to the boy. Still waiting. Still hesitating.
"…Go."
Flat.
The boy froze.
"…What?"
Draven's eyes didn't change.
"Go first."
No explanation. No emotion. Just an order.
The portal flickered again—more violently this time. Time was almost up.
The boy clenched his teeth.
Then nodded.
"…Tch—fine!"
Without another word—he turned and jumped.
His body was swallowed instantly by the swirling darkness.
Gone.
—
Only Draven remained near the edge.
The pull grew stronger. The portal destabilizing further.
Behind him—only a handful of survivors remained.
Some sprinting. Some crawling. Some too late.
Draven stepped forward one last time. Chains dragging.
Then—without hesitation—he walked into the portal.
And vanished.
—
The prison fell silent.
The portal flickered once—twice—then collapsed in on itself.
Gone.
Leaving behind—only the dead. And the echoes of what had just happened.
—
Light hit them hard the moment they came through.
Not dim. Not like the prison. Bright. Open. Clean.
The boy stumbled forward slightly as his feet touched solid ground again, eyes snapping up as he tried to take everything in.
"…What is this place…?"
The room was massive. Wide enough to hold all of them without crowding.
Above—floating—crystal orbs hovered silently in the air. Dozens of them. Watching. Tracking. Every movement. Every expression.
And somewhere far away—those same images were being projected.
—
In a grand underground arena, rows upon rows of seats stretched outward. Filled. Nobles draped in fine clothing. Figures cloaked in status and power. Some leaned forward with interest. Others sipped drinks casually. Watching. Like it was entertainment.
Because to them—it was.
—
Back in the chamber—the voice returned. Clear. Echoing across the entire space.
"Welcome… participants."
A pause. Almost pleased.
"Now…the game truly begins."
The survivors stood scattered. Some catching their breath. Others already watching each other.
Because instinct hadn't disappeared—it had just changed shape.
"Before we proceed…"
The voice continued.
"You will now form teams."
A faint hum followed.
"Five members per team."
Murmurs spread instantly. People turning, looking, measuring each other again. But this time—not just as enemies. As assets. Or liabilities.
"There are currently… one hundred and thirteen of you remaining."
A brief pause.
"As you can tell…"
A soft chuckle.
"That doesn't divide evenly."
Silence. Then—
"Three of you…" The tone flattened. "…will not find a team."
A beat.
"And those who fail to join one…" Cold. Final. "…will be eliminated."
The words dropped like a blade. Instant tension.
People started moving immediately.
Voices rising.
"Hey—form here!"
"I need two more!"
"Don't pick him—he's weak!"
"Stay back—!"
Groups began forming fast. Four. Three. Five. Some already locking in alliances. Others scrambling—desperate not to be left behind.
—
The boy stiffened. Eyes darting around.
"…We need a team."
His voice was tight. Urgent.
"They said five—so we need three more—"
But even as he spoke—he noticed it. People were already looking at them. Specifically—at Draven. At the chains. At the presence he carried.
Whispers spread quickly.
"…That's him…"
"The Demon King's son…"
"…Don't get close—"
"…Or maybe we should—?"
Interest. Fear. Greed. All mixed.
—
Draven stood still. Unmoving. Chains hanging loosely now.
His gaze moved slowly across the room. Watching the forming groups. Calculating.
"…Three more." He repeated calmly. Then glanced at the boy.
"Pick carefully." Flat. "Or you'll die with them."
The boy swallowed hard.
Because this wasn't like before.
Before—it was kill or be killed.
Now—it was trust… or die anyway.
And in a place like this—trust was just another weapon.