Chapter 2: The Awakening

Nile's breath hitched as silence pressed in around him. The darkness was absolute, swallowing every familiar detail of his cramped apartment. His fingers twitched, still clutching the crumpled paper towel.

Then—something was wrong.

The mattress beneath him was gone. The humid air, the distant honking of jeepneys, the muffled chatter of neighbors—all had vanished. In their place was the thick, suffocating scent of damp stone and something metallic, like rust… or blood.

His pulse pounded as his senses sharpened. The darkness wasn't just darkness—it was a void. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, revealing the faint outline of rough stone walls surrounding him. Cold chains clattered nearby, followed by the hushed murmurs of unfamiliar voices.

This isn't my apartment.

Nile's throat went dry. His heartbeat thundered. Every muscle in his body screamed to run, but where?

Then came the sound of clanking metal. Footsteps. Muffled voices. A door scraping open.

A guard banged against the iron bars.

"Lunchtime. Get moving."

Nile jerked awake—or had he been awake the whole time? His head throbbed as he sat up, feeling the damp, unyielding stone beneath him. was looking at his phone browsing the website looking for a paper towel. Then—a blackout.

And now, he was here. A prison cell. Ancient walls caked in grime, the air thick with the stench of sweat and decay.

The cell gate groaned open, and a blinding light flooded in. Nile shielded his eyes as he stepped forward, and his stomach lurched. Before him stretched a giant coliseum, its towering stands packed with thousands of spectators, their voices merging into a monstrous chant.

Ninety-nine other prisoners stood ahead of him, their faces a mix of fear, defiance, and despair. He was the last one required to enter.

A soldier barked an order. One by one, the prisoners shuffled forward, their chains dragging behind them. Nile remained frozen, his mind racing to piece together the impossibility of what he was seeing.

He had gone to bed in his apartment. He had been—

A sharp prod to his back sent him stumbling forward. A guard, clad in battered leather and steel, snarled something foreign before shoving him again.

The gate loomed ahead. Beyond it, the sun blazed over the vast coliseum.

The crowd's chant grew deafening.

"Gladius! Gladius! Gladius!"

Nile's breath shuddered. He didn't need a translation to understand.

Kill or be killed.

The gate creaked open.

And he was thrust into history's cruelest battlefield.

The Bloodbath

The clash of steel filled the air as chaos erupted around him. Nile barely had time to react before a blade whistled past his face, missing by mere inches. He stumbled back, heart hammering. He wasn't a fighter—he was a helpdesk technician. And yet, here he was, surrounded by warriors drenched in blood, fighting for their lives.

Somehow, luck kept him alive. He ducked, tripped, and fumbled his way through the carnage, narrowly avoiding slashes that should have ended him. The sand beneath his feet grew slick with blood as men fell one by one. Nile had no strategy, no technique—just sheer survival instinct and impossible fortune guiding him through the massacre.

By the time the bloodbath ended, only fifty remained standing. The rest lay in pieces, their bodies feeding the thirst of the merciless crowd.

A horn sounded, signaling the end of the slaughter. The survivors were herded back into the underground chambers like cattle, exhausted and shaken.

A Warrior's Lesson

That night, Nile met Ethan, a rugged warrior who had fought with calculated precision. Unlike the others, Ethan had taken notice of Nile's absurd luck—and the crumpled paper towel still clutched in his hand.

Over a meager meal of stale bread and water, Nile whispered his fears. What if this is all just a dream? What if I wake up any second?

Ethan scoffed. Without warning, he drove his fist into Nile's ribs.

Pain exploded through Nile's side. He gasped, clutching his abdomen.

"Did that feel real?" Ethan asked, smirking.

Nile coughed, glaring at him. "Yeah… what the hell was that for?"

"Then stop questioning it," Ethan said. "If you think this is a dream, you'll die like a fool tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

Another battle awaited them. Another fight to survive.

And above them, seated on a golden throne, the ruler of this cruel world watched—King Greg, the man who decided their fate.

As the sun rose, the arena gates groaned open once more.

The next trial had begun.