Prologue
The year is 2050. Technology and artificial intelligence have reached unprecedented heights. After death, a person's consciousness can be uploaded into a digital virtual world for permanent preservation.
However, this remains purely theoretical—it has yet to be implemented on a wide scale.
To test the system's stability, the United Nations decides to enlist twelve death row inmates to participate in a game set within this virtual realm.
Among the twelve condemned prisoners, only one can emerge victorious. The winner will be granted exoneration and even freedom. The losers, on the other hand, will face complete annihilation—both body and consciousness wiped from existence forever.
And so, the twelve inmates are thrust into an unending, meticulously orchestrated, and thrilling game of predator and prey...
......
Chapter 1: Twelve Death Row Inmates
"*Huff... huff...*"
The ragged sound of breathing echoed in his ears. Gasps passed over the abscesses in his throat, carrying the taste of blood up to his larynx. The pain, sharp and biting, jolted his nerves, wrenching his muddled consciousness into a few degrees of clarity.
His thoughts felt as though they were being forcibly dragged, rough and unceremonious, from the abyss of darkness back into a cold, stark reality. As his heavy mind began to stir, it felt like a sponge soaked in filthy water—sodden and dazed. Pushing against the immense weight pinning his eyelids shut, his scattered senses slowly returned. His vision, gradually, focused.
He began to realize he was still alive.
Alive.
It seemed he was merely, simply, alive.
As for *where* he was? *Who* he truly was? Such deeper questions didn't even have time to surface.
The searing pain radiating from his throat and face forced his consciousness into sharper relief.
He found himself kneeling on the ground.
His back was hunched, his hands and feet locked firmly to the floor by iron shackles. His body was forced into a crawling, prostrate position—a hunched arch of submission. The rusted shackles had chafed his skin raw; the icy metal plates pressed against the pulsing veins in his wrists. He tried to shift his body, but there was no breaking the restraints on his limbs.
The shackles were sealed shut.
"*Clank...*"
A shift of his weight dragged at the chain behind him.
He realized a collar was fastened around his neck. The metal band constricted his throat, chaining him down like a dog. The collar was linked to a long iron chain.
Turning his head, he saw the chain stretching back toward the wall behind him. Before the wall, several grey pillars loomed ominously. The chain was anchored to one of them.
An ominous premonition, laced with icy terror, crawled up his spine. He slowly turned his head forward and coughed.
"*Cough, cough...*"
The coughing brought violent agony to his throat. Saliva he couldn't swallow surged up, triggering a harsher cough that expelled fresh blood, filling his entire mouth with the metallic taste of gore.
The sensation of tight binding on his face and neck raised his suspicion. He lowered his head, probing cautiously with fingers that had only minimal mobility, and discovered that both his face and neck were wrapped in gauze. Layer upon layer of bandages isolated his skin, yet the pain radiating from beneath them was excruciatingly vivid.
"Help... me..."
A faint, desperate plea came from a man nearby.
Following the sound, he saw another figure, similarly hunched and bound, shackled to the floor just a few steps away.
He was not the only one imprisoned here.
It was a vast chamber. Beneath a black domed ceiling, everyone was forced to kneel, prostrating toward a circular stone dais at the room's center. Including himself, there were twelve people. They were arranged perfectly like the twelve notches of a clock face. Behind each of them, a thick, coarse chain extended and anchored to the grey pillars lining the wall.
Just like him, their heads faced the dais. They were chained like dogs, kneeling in servitude like slaves, appearing as devout disciples prostrating before the object of their unquestioning faith.
Where... was this place?
Before he could even formulate the thought, a burst of harsh static shattered his contemplation.
"*Bzzzt—*"
The piercing sound of electric interference crackled from the dome above.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the **Abyss System**. I am the Rules Enforcer for the Abyss System. You may address me as the **Judge**."
The voice, filtered through a modulator until it was impossible to discern gender, echoed with a hollow resonance throughout the cavernous room.
He held his breath, terrified of missing a single crucial word.
"All present have been processed by the System and stripped of your memories. Among you are those convicted of murder, treason, and acts of terrorism. Others are violent felons guilty of armed robbery, rape, arson, and poisoning."
"If you survive the game and emerge as the ultimate victor, your prior crimes will be pardoned. You will earn **Rebirth**. However..."
The voice paused, a deliberate beat of silence, before shifting tone. "...should you fail, your consciousness will remain trapped eternally within the Abyss System, becoming an offering to the System itself. When you descend into everlasting night, you shall become walking corpses, serving your **Penance**."
He swallowed hard, a reflexive gulp of dread, his fists clenching involuntarily.
"The current game is **Code Name Battle Royale**. The rules are simple: the twelve nameless individuals present will compete for a single Official Player slot. Only after obtaining this identity may one enter the System proper as a new player."
As the voice faded, a sharp *Click!* echoed through the room as everyone's handcuffs and leg irons simultaneously sprung open.
"*Whump!*"
A floodlight fixed to the dome blazed to life, its beam piercing the chamber's darkness like a razor-sharp blade.
He instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes.
As his vision adjusted, he saw that he and the other eleven were imprisoned in a circular chamber. Men and women, young and old, all wore black-and-white striped prison jumpsuits, their necks encircled by iron collars.
He knelt precisely at the six o'clock position relative to the central dais.
"*Grind... grind... grind...*"
Just as everyone exchanged bewildered glances, the sound of grinding gears emanated from behind them.
All twelve turned to look back. Lining the wall stood twelve grey steel cylinders, arranged in a circle. Each cylinder, roughly two meters in height, was densely bristling with steel spikes. They began to rotate, slowly drawing the iron chains inward. The slack that had pooled on the floor gradually tightened.
"Behind each of you is a spiked roller. The roller connects to your chain, and the chain has been welded to your collar. As the rollers turn, the chains will gradually retract. If you do not wish to be ground into meat paste, find the key and unlock your collar. Note: you have exactly five minutes. Whoever unlocks their collar and pulls the Stone Sword from the dais within five minutes wins this round."
"*Bzzzt—*"
The Judge's voice vanished, replaced by grating static.
The twelve prisoners, watching the high-speed rotation of the rollers behind them, plunged instantly into panic.
"W-What is this...?!"
"Help! Help me!"
"The collar... how do we get this damned thing off?!"
Chaos erupted. The clanking of chains dragging across stone mingled with the grinding gears, making the noise even more nightmarish.
(*How do I unlock the collar?*)
His hands frantically searched the metal band around his throat. He found a keyhole. He patted down his own body but found nothing. They were all wearing seamless prison jumpsuits, barefoot, with no pockets. There was nowhere to hide a key. If it wasn't on his body, then where?!
In his desperate confusion, his eyes fell upon a dagger lying near his foot. It had been there from the very beginning, hidden in the room's earlier darkness and unnoticed while his limbs were bound.
He looked up and realized he wasn't the only one. Everyone had a dagger.
Clearly, the others had noticed too.
At the ten o'clock position, a woman with a low ponytail was desperately sawing at her chain with the blade. At one and three o'clock, two men were attempting to pick the lock with the dagger's tip. People had realized that panic was useless; self-preservation was the only path to survival.
"*Grind... grind...*"
The chains tightened inexorably. A terrifying countdown.
Everyone wanted to live!
Everyone had only five minutes!
He bowed his head and examined his dagger closely. It wasn't long. The blade was rusted, and its tip was blunt. It could neither sever the chain nor act like a fine needle to pick the lock.
(*No.*)
(*This dagger isn't meant to be used that way.*)
He bit his lower lip instinctively. The motion tugged at the wound on his facial muscles, sending a spike of pain through him. Fresh blood slowly seeped through the gauze wrapped around his cheek. But compared to the terror of the spiked rollers spinning behind him, this pain was nothing.
**Warning: Four minutes remaining.**
The System's alert blared from the overhead speakers. Suddenly, he noticed a design engraved on the dagger's pommel. It was a symbol, a totem: a serpent eating its own tail, its body curved into a perfect circle. A state of head-meeting-tail.
(*...Ouroboros.*)
(*Head meets tail. It devours itself.*)
(*The end of the snake's body... is in its stomach.*)
(*The end is the stomach?*)
A sudden realization struck him. His gaze, hollow and dazed, drifted down to his own abdomen.
"*Grind—!*"
The chain yanked hard. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and was dragged backward. The spinning roller accelerated, pulling the chain into the narrowing gap between the cylinder and the wall. He was being hauled inch by inch toward it.
**Warning: Three minutes remaining.**
"Damn it..." He coughed out a mouthful of blood, a hoarse curse escaping his lips.
There was no time for hesitation. He twisted his body to the side, gripped the handle of the dagger in a reverse hold, and aimed the point at his left flank. Gritting his teeth, he plunged it in.
"W-What are you doing?!" The man with the crew cut chained at the five o'clock position stared at him in shock.
"Getting the key," he answered through clenched jaws, gripping the hilt until his knuckles turned white.
The blade was blunt. One stab wasn't enough to slice open his abdomen; it merely broke the outer layer of skin. Steeling his resolve, he pressed down on the handle with his right hand, increasing the force. He drove the dagger deep into his stomach, forcibly slicing the organ open.
Blood pooled in his stomach cavity, and he involuntarily vomited a thick stream of crimson.
"*Grind—!*"
The chain dragged him back another few meters. A long, wet streak of blood smeared across the floor tiles beneath him.
He withdrew the dagger. His left hand probed along the incision, pushing into his abdomen. The wound was narrow and deep. He gripped the edges of the cut with both hands, tearing the abdominal muscle fibers apart along their natural grain. Warm blood gushed over his fingers as they brushed against the soft, wet tissue of his stomach and the slick membrane of his omentum.
**Warning: Two minutes remaining.**
Sliding his fingers through the incision and into the stomach itself, he groped around inside his own guts.
There. He felt it—a hard, elongated object.
(*The key!*)
Changing tactics, he shifted his weight, collapsing onto his stomach on the floor. Propping himself up on his right elbow, he shoved his entire left fist into the stomach wound. He spread his fingers inside, trapping the rigid object between his index and middle fingers. With a wet, sucking motion, he pulled the object out.
"*Clink.*"
A key, half the length of a finger, dropped to the floor. It was smeared with a nauseating mixture of blood and gastric juices, still warm.
"The... the key was in the stomach!" The crew-cut man beside him gasped in sudden understanding.
That exclamation alerted everyone else in the room. They all lifted their shirts, staring at their own stomachs. The bold ones quickly mimicked the gruesome act, cutting into themselves to retrieve the key. The timid ones hesitated, paralyzed by the fear of pain.
**Warning: One minute remaining.**
The System's countdown sent a fresh wave of panic through him. His hands trembled as he picked up the key. The searing pain of his torn stomach kept his mind agonizingly sharp. The air was thick with the cloying scent of blood. He lowered his head, trying to fit the key into the lock on his collar.
"*Grind—!*"
The roller suddenly jerked tight, yanking him backward. He fell hard onto the floor, the key flying from his grasp and skittering away.
Behind him, the sound of the grinding spikes grew louder—closer. It was less than three meters away now!
**Warning: Forty seconds remaining.**
Scrambling, he dug the fingers of his right hand into the crevice between the floor tiles, using the leverage to pull himself forward. His left hand stretched out desperately for the fallen key.
Just a little further!
The room was a symphony of hell: the agonized screams of others cutting into their own bellies, the grinding of gears, the whir of the spiked roller, the scraping of chains across stone... In an instant, the chamber of twelve had become a living hellscape.
"*Grind...*" The chain tightened another fraction. The collar bit deep into the flesh of his neck, crushing his windpipe and sending a spasm of raw agony through him.
"*Cough...*" Blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering onto the floor tiles like blooming, macabre flowers.
(*Just a little more!*)
His eyes were locked onto the key, now lying less than a centimeter from his outstretched fingertips. There was nothing but grim resolve in his gaze. His right hand clawed deeper into the crack in the floor, anchoring him.
(*I... want to live!*)
In that razor's edge between life and death, the will to survive overpowered everything. He clenched his jaw and lunged, putting every ounce of his remaining strength into his arm.
His fingers closed around the key!
He had it!
A sudden, overwhelming relief washed over him just as the chain yanked his body backward. His back slammed against the floor. The spinning, spike-covered roller was now less than a meter away!
**Warning: Twenty seconds remaining.**
He jammed the key into the lock!
Ten seconds!
He twisted the key left and right!
Five seconds!
*Click.*
The collar sprang open!
He threw his body forward, diving free of the iron restraint. The empty collar was dragged by the chain into the spiked roller, instantly crushed and shredded. Tiny, jagged fragments of metal sprayed outward like shrapnel. He shielded his head, but a piece still sliced his scalp open.
"*Aaaargh—!*"
Horrific screams of agony erupted around him. Looking up, he witnessed those who hadn't managed to unlock their collars being dragged into the two-meter-high rollers. Fragile human bodies exploded against the high-speed steel spikes. Fountains of blood erupted toward the black dome. Pale bone and soft tissue were pulverized, splattering everywhere in a gruesome rain.
A section of a human shinbone skidded to a stop right beside him. He stared, shell-shocked, at the spot where the crew-cut man beside him had been chained. There was nothing left now but a smear of meat paste.
A split second more, and he would have been identical pulp.
Blood from the gash in his scalp trickled down, staining the gauze on the right side of his face a deep crimson. The throbbing agony from his self-inflicted abdominal wound reminded him that this nightmare was far from over...
Trembling, he pushed himself to his feet. He scanned the room and found he was not the only survivor. At the twelve o'clock, three o'clock, and nine o'clock positions, others still lived. But they were in equally dire straits.
One man had been impaled through the left shoulder by a flying piece of debris; half his shoulder was simply gone. Another lay sprawled on the ground, his horizontal abdominal incision gaping too wide; a slick, pink loop of intestine had slithered out of the cavity. A third survivor was just now pulling himself upright against the wall, clutching his left flank and regarding the others with equal wariness.
It was clear.
This was now a war of two—or rather, a war of the last ones standing.
He knew he could not hesitate. He lunged toward the stone dais in the center of the room.
Across the room, his opponent saw the move and launched himself forward as well.
In this game, among twelve people, there could be only one survivor.
He still didn't know what the **Abyss System** truly was.
But one thing he knew with absolute certainty: if he had to choose between living and dying, he was not the one who would die!
He reached the dais a step ahead of his opponent. Staggering, he grabbed the hilt of the Stone Sword embedded in the platform. The other man, arriving a split second later, halted just short of the dais and swung a wild punch at his face.
A flash of pain bloomed across his jaw. He lost his grip on the sword and stumbled back a few steps. But as he steadied himself, his fingers tightened around the key he was still holding.
He wedged the key between the index and middle fingers of his right fist and swung back with brutal force.
The jagged edge of the key raked across his opponent's face and plunged into his eye socket. The wet, gelatinous eyeball dislodged, dragging its optic nerve behind it as it was ripped from the skull. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the eye flying to the floor.
His opponent howled in agony and crumpled backward.
Seizing the opening, he lunged forward again and wrapped both hands around the Stone Sword's hilt.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the other two survivors desperately crawling toward him, leaving bloody trails in their wake.
Blood from his lacerated fingers streaked down the pale stone blade. He gripped the sword with both hands and, with a final, wrenching effort, pulled the Stone Sword free from its sheath in the rock!
(*I... am the victor!*)
Clutching the Stone Sword, his strength utterly spent, he slumped into a half-kneeling position on the floor.
"Congratulations. You are the winner of this game."
The Judge's voice echoed once more from the overhead speakers.
"You shall receive your Code Name."
"Arthur."