...
The door rattled violently, each boot thudding against the rotting wood like a war drum. Caius Falsis smashed himself against the splintered barrier, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone.
The flickering cold light cast ghastly shadows on his face, warping it into a grotesque mask of fear and thrill.
A rough voice slithered through the cracks of the door. "False Prophet of the Church of Malzaphor! Open the door, and your death will be swift. Painless, even. A mercy, I would call it."
Caius' breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged beast. The damp, musty air clung to him, suffocating, squeezing out his sanity.
How had he plummeted so low?
His mind raced, a tornado of thoughts and paranoia, as he pressed harder against the door. Each thud from the other side was a countdown, a reminder of the clock ticking down on his life. His phone buzzed again.
A single notification. He glanced down, a deranged grin creeping across his face.
[Would you like to play a game?]
This time, the words crackled with electric invitation, a siren's call wrapped in dark humor. Caius squeezed his eyes shut, laughter bubbling up—a frantic, broken sound. "Of course."
...
Hours Earlier…
...
It was an ordinary morning.
An ordinary man sat in the outdoor seating of an ordinary place.
His eyes were his favorite color. Ordinary brown.
No guards, no weapons, no nothing.
A simple break from all of his work.
Ethan sat at the Celestial Bean, a coffee shop draped in pretension, mocking its patrons with its ridiculous celestial-themed drinks. Lunar Macchiatos? Nebula Espressos? It was all a farce. His drink of choice? Black coffee. No sugar, no cream… Ordinary. Just as he liked it.
He stirred his cup absently, watching the dark liquid swirl, a perfect metaphor for his life—ordinary, unremarkable, a slow spiral into nothingness.
Wind tousled his messy brown hair, his gray t-shirt and windbreaker crinkling like crumpled thoughts. He was invisible, a ghost drifting through the sea of humanity, and that's how he liked it.
Although… he shouldn't settle into a new face too quickly.
He liked to think he could deduce a person's life story simply by watching the way they held their cup, the way their fingers twitched when they were nervous, the way their posture revealed hidden insecurities.
He could tell, with unsettling accuracy, the emotional state of anyone who crossed his path.
It was a skill he had honed over years, becoming an invisible observer in a world of noise.
He lazily glanced towards the others.
His gaze flickered. A woman, tapping her foot quickly. The posture, hunched back, that told a story. The way her legs were slightly open outwards,and how she focused on her cup. Probably a mother. Anxious. Worried about someone… Sick. Scars. Lowered head, but not to hide anything. Maybe an abusive husband.
In the same second, his eyes caught someone else.
A man. Dressed in a suit. Fabric that looked too loose to be luxury. Something just for impressions. Probably more than he usually wore, seeing the uncomfortable twitch in his arm. Bought In a store which currently had a 15% off sale. The slight awkward glances around. The cringy 'Rodex' watch. Skin that had its natural oils removed recently. Someone who doesn't usually shower, but showered for this very occasion.
Definitely waiting for a date. First time too, probably.
His mind, as always, wandered. He thought about last night's sermon... No, he cut himself off. That was not who he was right now.
Not Ethan Brooks, at least. He was just a regular guy today. A person of the world, with no cult to lead, no divine mission to serve, no bootlicking to do, and no blackmail to send. Just a man. A coffee drinker. A book reader. A man who lived on the fringes of obscurity.
The overpriced lattes and absurd names didn't faze him, but the people did. They moved like puppets, strings pulled by unseen hands, secrets hidden beneath their facades.
His gaze lazily fell on a group of seemingly ordinary souls. Unassuming. But Ethan was no fool.
A man adjusted his wristwatch twice in under a minute. A woman drummed her fingers against the table in a precise, rhythmic code alert. A glance in the reflection of a coffee cup wasn't casual; her eyes burned into him, watching, waiting.
A bump in someone's coat. A silenced handgun. Professionals.
They found me.
Ethan's fingers rubbed against the edge of his coffee cup as he leaned back. Sunlight slashed across his face, casting jagged shadows that twisted him into a figure of menace. He let out a low, wicked smile, an inside joke shared only with the universe.
His brown contact lenses shimmered.
They weren't here after Ethan Brooks, no. He was too ordinary. They came for someone else.
Caius Falsis.
His face itched underneath his false skinmask.
He was hunted, but who was the traitor? Who sold him out?
He was such an idiot. He was too overconfident. He should have come more prepared. Right now…
He had nothing.
…But he still had one card left.
Today, he was Ethan Brooks, an ordinary man. A reader. A pacifist. And he would blend in, disappear into the crowd like smoke.
And tomorrow, after finding the traitor… He would be a different man.
He took a deep breath, checking the clock outside the restaurant, glancing at the glass reflection to see which path was free. "Looks like I'll be late," he muttered, the words tasting like poison. Another act in this grotesque play.
He snapped his book shut, the sound slicing through the air, and drained the last of his coffee.
Time to disappear.
The bitter warmth coursed through him, grounding him, feeding the chaos beneath his skin. He could feel the game starting, the familiar rush of strategy and misdirection igniting the fire in his gut.
The figure followed him… and finally… he pulled out a gun.
Caius spotted the shooter in the crowded café just as the first shot rang out. In a split second, he grabbed the nearest table and shoved it toward the source of the gunfire, using it as a makeshift barrier.
The long-haired waiter carrying a tray behind him stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the chaos.
As the bullet struck the edge of the table, deflecting it away as Caius flung the coffee cup off the tray, sending it splashing in the shooter's direction.
The hot liquid arced through the air, and the shooter momentarily flinched, giving Caius just enough time to push through the panicked crowd, searching for an exit.
The deflected bullet hit someone else. On the floor. Yelling.
But, Caius didn't care.
Only he needed to survive.
The rest of the hunters followed him.
He made it past the panicking crowd before emerging onto the city streets.
The fans milling around caught his eye. They were waiting- an idol visit announced on his phone a few hours ago. Cover. A well-timed whisper sent them stampeding towards the people on his trail.
All the paths leading to the secret doors under the city had been blocked off by construction signs and 'workers'.
This was planned. Someone who knew what they were doing.
But it didn't matter.
He had a path painted in his mind just in case something like this happened.
He smoothly took off his coat and draped it over someone else glued to their phone screen as he vanished into the crowd.
He wove through the crowd, footsteps silent, a shadow in the sea of humanity. Misdirection was his only ally, anything to throw them off his trail.
Eventually, as he reached an unblocked alley, the only sounds his shoes crunching against the loose newspapers and shattered bear bottles, and the abandonned apartments' windows creaking in the wind... He let out a breath.
But then- betrayal.
A shadow in an upper window. A message on his phone: his location leaked. A trusted member of the cult.
'This is for my brother.'
…Tsk.
Now they'll be coming from every direction. There was no time to mess around.
He glanced around. Heavy grey doors with no handles, only keyholes. Unclimbable brick walls. Windows too high to reach.
Nowhere to go, but ahead.
How the hell did they find out his true identity? Even though they were one of the 'Bishops'...
A jolt of annoyance surged through him as he sprinted, heart racing, legs screaming. He ducked into an alley, walls closing in, the sound of boots echoing like a death knell.
He remembered the look on the betrayers' eyes as he proudly showed them how he was managing a cult that sold everything they had for his profit. The starving children. The dying elderly, paying for the offerings with their own organs. The only way they could have access to his daily communion.
He had noticed a glint of hatred in their eyes then... But he thought it would go away. He didn't have any proof, so what could he do against his power? He thought they couldn't do anything.
Oh, how he was wrong.
They must've killed the priests he assigned to them.
Caius scowled, as he vowed to burn the traitor alive once he got back unscathed...
Only to turn the corner... And immediately come to a stop.
A single open door. It led to a dark room.
A trap. Most probably.
But he didn't have a choice.
Footsteps closed in from behind him.
He ran, glancing up, making sure no snipers were in sight, before rolling into the room.
He slammed the door behind him, locking it with shaking hands, breaths coming in short gasps. Thud. Thud. Thud. The bootfalls outside echoed through the cramped space, steady, relentless. He was cornered. No escape.
The door shuddered with each kick, dust raining down from the ceiling in the dim, flickering light. Ethan glanced around- no window. No vent. No hiding place. No weapons. No escape.
A room designed for his death.
'I'm done for.'
He closed his eyes, the weight of reality crashing down. A bitter laugh erupted from his lips. "...Truly a Checkmate."
He clentched his teeth, as he slapped himself in the face.
He was too overconfident. He hadn't even thought about betrayal.
Life was too easy. The stress was getting to him... He let down his guard...
...He closed his eyes. It was useless making up excuses now.
His heart raced as his ringing head pounded, the voices outside sounding a mile away. The door was being hit harder. The lock was breaking...
And so was he.
He should've prepared more. Asked the Disciples to accompany him… He should've never taken a break at all…
No.
All of this could've been avoided if not for a single mistake he'd made.
One mistake. Trust. Trusting the wrong people. It only led to betrayal.
And now he would lose all his money, power, status, and statues that he'd worked so hard to get...
...And his life, too.
He had never thought about death before. This felt too sudden. Too unfair...
He had fumbled his way through the crowd.
Thinking of it now… there were so many better courses of action he could have taken. Courses that would've secured his freedom. He was so stupid. He was too late.
His thoughts spiraled back to a rainy night, bloodied hands of a child taking the hand of a shadowy figure in an odd tophat.
'Maybe I should've stabbed him instead.'
But even in his darkest hour, his phone buzzed once more.
The screen lit up.
[Would you like to play a game?]
Ethan stared at the screen, laughter bubbling up, twisted and euphoric, mirroring the sound of his sanity shattering. A wild grin spread across his face. Of course.
His entire life was a game, playing with other people's fate. Now fate itself was inviting him to play one last game.
Why not?
He should just enjoy himself before he dies.
He tapped "Accept."
And reality shattered like glass, shards of his sanity raining down around him.
And on that day, his life, that he always called a simple game of wits... Had developped into a game of wits and death.