Each participant had been equipped with a watch-like device—more tracker than timepiece.
As Ezra raised his wrist, the screen flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow against the damp shadows of the forest. A digital map sprawled across the display. Dozens of tiny, pulsing dots moved across it—each one another contestant.
Moving. Converging. Hunting.
The device wasn't just for navigation.
It tracked them.
It ranked them.
And, so far, it was impossible to remove.
Ezra's gaze dropped to the bottom of the screen.
[Rank: 599]
His eye twitched.
"…Seriously?"
Out of six hundred participants, he was practically dead last.
He let out an exasperated sigh and trudged forward, boots squelching in the mud. The only way to climb the rankings? Survive.
His priorities aligned quickly—food, water, shelter, weapons. Without those, he wouldn't last long, let alone rise in rank.
His training under his professor kicked in as he moved with practiced efficiency, eyes sharp, footsteps careful. He navigated the forest like he belonged to it, scanning the underbrush until he spotted a cluster of edible berries nestled between twisted roots.
He plucked a few and popped them into his mouth, the sweet-sour burst refreshing, just enough to keep the hunger at bay.
Still no signs of other participants. That was good.
According to his tracker, he was positioned on the outer edge of the battlefield—far from the central conflict zones. It bought him time.
But if he wanted to reach the inner circle, where the best resources—and the real fights—awaited, he'd have to cross miles of dense, enemy-filled terrain.
Hours of travel.
Ezra exhaled and glanced up.
The sky had turned, thick clouds rolling in fast. Within moments, the first cold drops splattered against his skin. Then came the downpour—hammering through the canopy like a war drum.
"Just my luck."
He yanked his hood up and moved, sprinting through the forest, weaving between trees and thorns. His boots slapped through puddles, water soaking into the fabric with every step, but he kept going—focused, determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and the edge.
Then—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
His tracker shrieked to life.
Ezra skidded to a stop, heart hammering.
He raised his wrist, eyes locked on the flickering display. Four red dots had appeared on the map—closing in fast.
Too fast.
He swallowed hard. His body tensed.
He turned slowly, scanning the shadows between the trees, senses spiking.
Something wasn't right.
Then—
Snap.
A branch broke.
Behind him.
Then—a blur.
And the first figure lunged from the trees.