Tilus shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. "I know a way out of this stage without anyone having to kill each other!"
Faces turned toward him—some filled with fear, others with a flicker of hope. The chaos quieted, if only for a moment, as people listened.
"The condition to pass this stage is to kill a living being. It doesn't have to be human," Tilus continued, urgency in his voice. "There are insects and small animals around if you look carefully. Kill one of them, and you can clear the stage."
A few in the crowd looked skeptical, but Tilus pressed on. "I've already received the notification after killing an insect, and so have my friends. If you head to the north side, there's an ant nest. That's your way out."
Slowly, the crowd began to stir, some hesitantly searching the ground for anything small enough to kill. Tilus discreetly pulled out a small container with a few ants he had collected earlier and handed it to Violet and the elderly woman. "Kill the ant," he instructed. They hesitated but did as he said, clearing the stage.
But Verismon wasn't finished with him yet.
"Well, well, well," Verismon's voice echoed again, laced with sinister amusement. "We have a little savior in our midst. How boring. You've spoiled my fun, Tilus. Let's make things more… interesting."
Dread crept over Tilus as Verismon's voice took on a darker tone.
"From this moment, the time limit for this trial will be shortened," Verismon announced. "You now have five minutes left to kill a living being and clear the stage. Oh, and one more thing—if anyone manages to kill Tilus, you will all pass the stage instantly. No need to hunt for insects. Just one quick death, and you're free."
A deadly silence fell over the crowd. Panic began to resurface, but this time, it was focused on Tilus. Eyes turned toward him—some wide with fear, others sharp with murderous intent.
But his words were swallowed by the fear and desperation thickening the air. Whispers flickered back and forth among the crowd:
"Hey, what if we could—"
"Yeah, why not? If we had more people—"
"But do we have to? We could just kill the insects!"
"You idiots, we only got 5 minutes left!"
Some hesitated, torn between gratitude and the overwhelming desire to survive. But others had already made up their minds. The crowd began advancing toward him, their eyes glinting with a desperate resolve.
Tilus's mind raced. He couldn't fight them all, and trying would only fuel Verismon's twisted game. Each step they took felt heavier, the weight of their survival instinct pressing on him. He needed to act quickly.
"Listen to me!" Tilus pleaded. "There's still a way out for all of us. Run to the ant nest now—there's enough for everyone!"
The crowd hesitated, but Verismon's cruel laughter cut through the air. "Tick-tock, Tilus. Time is running out."
The tension in the air thickened, the crowd edging closer, some still weighing their options. But one man didn't hesitate—the same man who had attacked the grandmother earlier. His eyes gleamed with cold determination as he shoved through the crowd, knife in hand.
"You think you're a hero? Let's see how long that lasts," the man sneered, his voice dripping with malice.
Tilus's heart pounded as the man lunged, the knife flashing in the dim light. He barely dodged the first strike, but the man kept coming, each swing more frantic and uncoordinated than the last. Tilus knew he couldn't keep dodging forever.
"You'll regret this," Tilus muttered, bracing himself for the next attack.
Violet didn't hesitate. Although she didn't know why Tilus had helped her, she was the type to repay her debts. She sprinted after Ben. The rest of their group—Leon, panic-stricken but compelled by Ben's courage, and Jasmine, still frozen in disbelief—were swept along by the momentum of their determination.
Ben roared as he bulldozed a charging attacker. "Keep back! No one touches Tilus!" His hot temper and unwavering resolve turned every swing into a promise of protection.
Violet slid into the fray, her movements crisp and controlled. "Step aside," she said coolly, twisting an assailant's arm before landing a swift kick. Her eyes blazed with the same fire that drove her to stand up for the weak.
Leon ducked a wild punch and grinned manically. "Oh, come on, folks—this circus isn't complete without me!" His clownish banter masked a steely determination as he spun around an attacker, landing a punch that was as unexpected as it was deadly.
Jasmine, shaking off her initial shock, snatched a loose rock from the ground. "Heads up!" she whispered, launching the rock at a looming threat. When it connected, she moved in with a quick slap and a follow-up punch. "No one gets to him," she added, her voice low and resolute—a quiet force of calculated precision.
William's steady tone cut through the chaos. "Circle tight, everyone. They want Tilus dead, but they won't get past us." His strategic calm kept the group aligned, a human barricade determined to hold the line.
Meanwhile, Tilus fought desperately, sweat and pain intermingling with his ragged breaths. Across from him, Tim lunged, a knife glinting in the half-light. "You're not even going to fight back?" Tim taunted, his voice edged with a bitter history. "You're pathetic. You can't run forever."
In that moment, as Tilus stumbled, Tim's sneer deepened with memory. He recalled the afternoon when he'd led his gang against Tilus and his friends—small fry, he'd thought, until the kid turned the tables. Worse still, he remembered the day his little brother, his loyal subordinate, sacrificed his life to save him from a monstrous attack. That loss had festered into a grudge that burned as fiercely as his bloodlust. "I'm gonna show you who's in control," Tim growled.
Tilus's trembling hand fumbled for the pepper spray hidden in his bag. "Please… don't…" he managed, feigning fear as he fell back. Tim's confidence swelled. "Blame your luck, kid," he sneered, stepping closer with the raised knife. "Too late for regrets."
At the precise moment the blade began its descent, Tilus struck. In one fluid move, he yanked the spray and blasted Tim's face. Tim howled, the knife clattering to the ground as his grip faltered.
Tilus seized his opening and launched a vicious kick straight into Tim's groin. Tim crumpled, gasping and writhing in pain. Without missing a beat, Tilus locked him in a chokehold, pressing the cold knife against his throat. "Don't even think about it," he warned. "I can end you in an instant."
Tim's bravado cracked. "You think you've got what it takes, kid?" he spat, eyes wide with shock and the weight of old grudges.
Tilus's grip tightened, the knife biting into Tim's skin just enough to draw blood. "Wanna bet?" he challenged, his voice low and relentless.
The crowd fell silent, uncertainty rippling among them as Tilus's challenge hung in the air—a daring defiance against a past that would not let go.
As the timer ticked down its final seconds, Tim's savagery escalated. With a feral snarl, he lunged at Tilus—teeth snapping down like a mad dog—and bit hard into Tilus's hand. "You think you can humiliate me, kid?" Tim spat, his voice raw with bitter memories. Blood and sweat mingled as Tilus gritted his teeth, fighting through the searing pain.
"Fight, kid!" Tim's fists pounded forward in a wild flurry, each strike a desperate echo of a past where he'd once ruled the streets—where he'd taught his little brother how to fight, how to survive. But that was before everything fell apart. Before the night he couldn't protect him.
Tilus staggered, pain searing through his mangled hand, but he pivoted on shaky legs and met Tim's assault with every ounce of defiant strength. Their fists collided in a raw, frantic rhythm; each punch and kick was a desperate dance of survival. Tim's every movement was savage and erratic, a chaotic burst fueled by deep-seated rage. But between the blows, something flickered in his eyes—shadows of an old fight, one that had ended in a way he never forgave himself for.
He saw his little brother again, fists raised, gritting his teeth just like Tilus was now. That same fire. That same damn stubbornness.
Tim clenched his jaw. No. Not again. Not this time.
The timer's ticking grew louder, a cruel metronome marking their dwindling seconds. "You can't keep this up forever!" Tim roared as he lunged again, his limbs a blur in the chaos. Tilus ducked low, sweat and blood streaking his face, and launched a counterattack—a brutal kick that forced Tim off balance.
"Time's up," a voice cut through the roar of the fight.
Tim's onslaught faltered. His eyes, wild with rage and haunted by loss, widened in disbelief as his strength ebbed away. His body swayed, knees buckling. And in that final, desperate moment, his lips parted—not for Tilus, but for a ghost only he could see.
"You fought well, kid…" he rasped.
A fight lost. A promise broken. And just like before, he was too late to change it.
Panting on the bloodstained floor, Tilus stood over him, breath heavy and heart pounding—a stark, painful reminder that some battles leave nothing but scars.
Verismon's voice crackled to life. "Interesting... I'll admit, Tilus, you're more resourceful than I gave you credit for. But don't get too comfortable. This… this is merely the beginning."
[Congratulations. You have survived the first Stage.]