Falling into the Simulation pt 3

"When are they going to appear?"

Eleonora's shout shattered the silence at the eastern edge of the wall. With no functional means of communication, yelling was the only option.

"It's almost time. Prepare your weapons."

Tyrin wasn't the best at detecting the enemy's arrival, but his curious mind and thirst for knowledge had always given him a peculiar advantage. He knew stories, studied strategies, and never forgot what he read. The Atakama—the vast desert covering nearly 99% of the planet Arbazan, or Fluviel, as the locals called it—had been ignored for centuries, relegated to oblivion by both allies and enemies alike.

Until Miral, a visionary scientist, made a discovery that changed everything. A unique interaction between the native fauna and the metals in the soil triggered an unprecedented molecular breakdown, transforming ordinary lithium into something far beyond expectations: Zenthral, a virtually indestructible metal.

It didn't take long for the Tyranos to learn about the discovery. Fearing that humans would seize the technology, they launched a relentless attack on the planet. A hundred years of war followed—a century of blood and destruction. Yet, among all the horrors, there was a curious pattern: the attacks always occurred in the morning, when the ground was still warm. Coincidence or weakness?

If the simulator's calculations were correct, the next attack would happen now.

"They're coming."

The Belzebuth—the Tyranos' vanguard—appeared on the horizon. These creatures, as strong as they were fast, reproduced at a frantic rate, like ravenous insects. To Fluviel, they were the harbingers of the end—the planet's true Inquisitors.

The castle, built as a final bastion against extinction, stood in the path of the storm. Its stone walls, now reinforced with the gleaming carapaces of the Scorpiones, reflected the sun's pale light, radiating suffocating heat.

And the swarm was coming.

Thousands of grotesque silhouettes moved like a black wave—dry, skeletal quadrupeds, their eyes void of soul. The sound of their galloping merged into a continuous roar, as if the desert itself was about to be torn in two.

Atop the walls, the four warriors prepared. Each one defended a side of the castle, their expressions heavy with determination. Their weapons were coated with the venom of the Scorpiones.

There was nowhere to run. The only option was to fight.

NORTH — TYRIN

Tyrin took a deep breath and steadied his aim. He had never been the best marksman—not even close to Cassandra's precision—but with that many enemies, skill was a luxury. His only advantage? Every poisoned bullet was a fatal strike.

He held his breath, aligned the sights, and fired.

BANG!

The creature fell, writhing before being trampled by those behind it. Another monster took its place. Then another. And dozens more.

"No choice…" He adjusted his stance, eyes resolute. "We'll take you all down."

His rifle roared again. Each shot tore grotesque holes through the enemy ranks, bodies collapsing in a cascade. But the Belzebuth kept coming.

EAST — ELEONORA

Eleonora smiled, but the expression held only adrenaline. She felt every recoil of her modified rifle, every impact as the explosive bullets, laced with Scorpione venom, detonated on impact.

She spotted a group charging at absurd speed and pulled the trigger.

A green explosion lit up the sand. Fragments of creatures rained over the dunes.

"Come on, you disgusting vermin…" she murmured, reloading. "Let's see how many more you've got."

SOUTH — CASSANDRA

Cassandra kept her eyes sharp and her breathing steady. For her, killing wasn't enough—every shot had to count.

Bullets were limited.

She took aim and fired. A single precise shot pierced through a creature's skull, sending it spinning through the air before being trampled by those behind it. The impact knocked down three more.

But there was no time to celebrate.

The swarm wasn't thinning. And she knew… this was far from over.

WEST — DAMIAN

Damian laughed. Not out of joy, but because the chaos of battle was a fuel that set his veins on fire. Laughter was the only way to keep insanity from taking over completely.

He gripped the flamethrower tightly, feeling the trigger vibrate under his fingers. Then, he pressed it.

A torrent of fire and venom roared like an enraged dragon, consuming everything in its path. Green flames danced over the creatures' bodies, blackening carapaces, burning hollow eyes, turning flesh to ash. The screams of the Belzebuth blended with the crackling of their bones bursting under the extreme heat.

But they didn't stop.

The creatures kept advancing, ignoring the carnage around them. Like an insatiable swarm, they climbed over the dead, using their own allies as steps to reach the walls.

"Ah, shit…" Damian spat on the ground, his eyes scanning the endless horde. "Does this ever end?"

He grabbed a fresh fuel drum and snapped it into place with practiced ease. But before he could fire again, a distinct sound cut through the roar of the flames—claws scraping against stone.

He turned at the last second.

Creatures had managed to scale the wall. Six of them, mouths wide open, venom-dripping fangs bared, lunging at him.

With a swift motion, Damian raised his weapon and fired point-blank. The first Belzebuth was instantly obliterated, its charred entrails splattering across the ground. The second tried to leap, but was sliced in half by a poisoned projectile.

The third got too close.

Damian dodged at the last moment, feeling the air shift as razor-sharp claws slashed just inches from his face. He swung his flamethrower, using the heavy barrel like a club, and crushed the creature's skull with a brutal strike.

Its lifeless body tumbled off the wall, dragging two more down with it.

The last one still clung to the stone. Damian stepped forward and kicked it hard in the head, watching it plummet into the swarm below.

He exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

In the midst of battle, the wind howled, thick with the acrid stench of death. The desert was a storm of shadows, the Belzebuth multiplying like a nightmare refusing to end.

The castle trembled as the first bodies began to spill over the walls, their limbs still twitching in final spasms. But many weren't dead. Clawed limbs dug into their fallen comrades, using them as footholds to breach the defenses. Famished jaws snapped open, hollow eyes locked onto human flesh.

"They're inside!" Cassandra shouted.

Tyrin took a step back, raised his weapon, and fired. His shot blasted through the head of a creature scrambling up the stone, leaving a sickening splatter on the ground.

"Fall back to the courtyard! We defend the fortress from within!"

They were exhausted. Sweat dripped from their brows, muscles screamed for rest. But they couldn't stop. Not now.

Because if this castle fell, there would be nothing left but ashes.

Rushing down the central corridor, they burst into the courtyard, leaping over a narrow passage between the hallway and the open dirt floor—an ambush trap they had prepared in case of an internal breach.

When the Belzebuth followed them, the ground collapsed beneath their weight.

The pit—five meters deep and two meters wide—wasn't just a simple drop. Its circular design separated the courtyard's center from the rest of the fortress, and now the creatures were trapped at the bottom. The four warriors stood at the edge, weapons ready to exterminate the swarm.

The monsters clawed desperately at the walls, but their own allies kept falling on top of them, crushing them in an endless cycle of destruction.

Tyrin didn't hesitate.

"They fell for it! We're winning this! Fire! Use everything you've got!"

Gunshots ripped through the air. Each poisoned bullet tore through carapaces, spraying dark blood against the walls of the pit. Agonized screams mixed with the metallic clatter of bullets striking hardened bones.

Out of ammo, Tyrin drew his dagger and dove into the fight. No hesitation. He slit throats, gutted creatures, his movements swift and precise.

Damian, using a makeshift body shield and a pistol in his other hand, stood in front of Cassandra, ensuring his sister could fire with lethal precision. Every shot she took brought down another Belzebuth, their bodies piling atop the others in the pit.

Meanwhile, Eleonora hesitated.

She watched them fight as if they had done this a thousand times before. Their synchronization was seamless, almost instinctual. They didn't need to speak—they simply acted, as if they were parts of the same body.

She fired a few scattered shots, but something gnawed at her. A feeling of being… misplaced.

Then, the last creature fell.

Silence.

Only their ragged breaths remained. Damian was the first to drop to the ground, exhausted, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"We won. Holy shit, I'm so fucking tired."

Tyrin, still standing, gazed at the horizon. Something felt off. His instincts told him there should have been one last enemy, a final challenge… but then the bell rang.

A scoreboard flickered in the air.

They weren't even in the top ten.

"WHAT?!" Damian shouted, still sprawled on the ground. He blinked a few times, struggling to process it. "That makes no damn sense!"

Eleonora crossed her arms, already used to the group's chaotic energy.

"It was obvious this would happen."

Cassandra, still piecing it together, turned to her. "Explain."

But Tyrin answered first, without hesitation.

**"Fluviel didn't have defense towers at the time. They were never prepared for an attack of this scale. Just like us, they were caught off guard. And without a containment plan, they had to improvise their defense day by day… until, eventually, they lost.

Gertrudes once said that if they had installed gun towers from the beginning, they never would have lost the planet so quickly."**

Eleonora nodded. The logic was irrefutable.

But then Damian frowned. A question nagged at him.

"Okay, so… why didn't we choose the tower?"

To Damian, the answer wasn't so clear-cut. If the Belzebuth followed a known pattern, then picking the defense towers should have been the most logical choice, right?

Before he could say anything else, Cassandra spoke up, as if the pieces had just fallen into place.

"Because if they chose the towers, they had to give up something essential for survival."

Tyrin grinned, satisfied.

**"Exactly. They had to choose between food and ammunition.

If they picked ammunition, they'd have supplies for only seven days before starving.

If they picked food, they'd last three days before running out of bullets.

And, according to my calculations… the attacks will come every other day.

They won't survive. None of the top ten teams actually stand a chance of winning.

But us?**

We'll be ready."

A chill ran down Eleonora's spine. For the first time, she truly understood what it meant to fight alongside these three.

Tyrin crouched down, reached for a Belzebuth corpse, and tore off its carapace.

His eyes gleamed with a new idea.

"And I know exactly what we can do to turn this mission into a walk in the park."