Chapter 8: The King's Feast

The cold morning air was thick with tension as the remaining survivors stood in uneasy silence. Their numbers had dwindled, yet the looming threat of the arena still hung over them like an unshakable curse.

The iron gates groaned open once more.

But instead of being led to the bloodstained sands of the battlefield, they were met with an unexpected command.

"The King has summoned all survivors for a feast."

The guard's voice carried an unusual amusement as if he knew something they didn't.

A feast?

A murmur rippled through the prisoners. Was this some kind of trick?

They had fought, bled, and clawed their way through hell to survive—now they were being rewarded with a meal?

Suspicion churned in their minds, but the gnawing hunger in their stomachs was harder to ignore.

The guards gave them no choice.

They were escorted through the winding corridors of the coliseum, past torches flickering against cold stone walls, until they reached an opulent banquet hall.

A long table stretched across the chamber, adorned with lavish dishes—roasted meats, freshly baked bread, exotic fruits, and jugs of dark wine. The rich aroma filled the air, teasing their starving bodies.

At the head of the table sat King Greg.

Draped in his usual crimson and gold, his piercing eyes studied them with a smirk, fingers lazily drumming against his goblet. Surrounding him were over a hundred guards, their hands resting on their weapons, ensuring that no one did anything foolish.

The survivors hesitated.

This was a trap. It had to be.

Yet, when the king took a bite of his meal and drank from his goblet without a second thought, the tension eased—if the food were poisoned, he would have fallen first.

One by one, hunger won over fear.

They ate. Devouring the feast, tearing into the meat, gulping down mouthfuls of bread, letting the juices of the fruit drip down their fingers.

For the first time in days, they felt human again.

And then, the king spoke.

The Deal

"You have fought well."

King Greg's voice was laced with amusement, his goblet of wine twirling between his fingers.

"And so, I shall grant you a rare privilege. The top five survivors of tomorrow's battle will earn their freedom."

A stunned silence filled the hall.

Freedom?

For the first time since their capture, a glimmer of hope sparked in their hollow eyes.

But the king wasn't finished.

"However," he continued, leaning forward, his grin stretching wider, "only one will be granted a wish. Anything their heart desires."

Nile's stomach tightened.

A wish.

That meant the previous champion had truly received such a gift.

And from what Nile had heard, that wish had cost more than just a life—it had set a new chain of events into motion.

The room held its breath as the king raised his goblet high.

"To the final battle! May the strongest among you rise!"

The survivors hesitated.

But with guards watching, they had no choice.

They lifted their goblets.

The moment the wine touched their lips—

Something was wrong.

A strange sensation coursed through them.

Their vision blurred.

Their bodies wavered.

One by one, they collapsed.

The feast had been a lie.

As the last prisoner slumped forward, the king took another slow sip from his goblet, chuckling under his breath.

"Let the real game begin."

The Awakening

When Nile stirred, a sharp pain throbbed in his skull.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, nausea clawing at his gut.

His fingers instinctively reached for his face—

Something was covering it.

A mask.

His breath hitched.

He shot upright, disoriented, eyes darting around. He wasn't in the banquet hall anymore.

The warm glow of torches was gone. The scent of food—gone. The chatter of survivors—gone.

He was alone.

Locked in a different prison cell.

His hands trembled as he looked down. His tattered prison rags were gone.

He was dressed in something else.

The realization sent panic surging through him.

He gripped the iron bars, his voice raw.

"ETHAN!"

No answer.

Beyond the cold stone walls, he could hear faint stirring, muffled voices—other survivors waking to the same nightmare.

They were separated.

And whatever awaited them next—

They would face it alone.

You said:add this Nile remember the king "only one will be granted a wish. Anything their heart desires." Nile thought if he can wish to comeback home.. ChatGPT said:

Here's your updated scene with the added element of Nile's realization about the wish:

The King's Feast

The cold morning air was thick with tension as the remaining survivors stood in uneasy silence. Their numbers had dwindled, yet the looming threat of the arena still hung over them like an unshakable curse.

The iron gates groaned open once more.

But instead of being led to the bloodstained sands of the battlefield, they were met with an unexpected command.

"The King has summoned all survivors for a feast."

The guard's voice carried an unusual amusement, as if he knew something they didn't.

A feast?

A murmur rippled through the prisoners. Was this some kind of trick?

They had fought, bled, and clawed their way through hell to survive—now they were being rewarded with a meal?

Suspicion churned in their minds, but the gnawing hunger in their stomachs was harder to ignore.

The guards gave them no choice.

They were escorted through the winding corridors of the coliseum, past torches flickering against cold stone walls, until they reached an opulent banquet hall.

A long table stretched across the chamber, adorned with lavish dishes—roasted meats, freshly baked bread, exotic fruits, and jugs of dark wine. The rich aroma filled the air, teasing their starving bodies.

At the head of the table sat King Greg.

Draped in his usual crimson and gold, his piercing eyes studied them with a smirk, fingers lazily drumming against his goblet. Surrounding him were over a hundred guards, their hands resting on their weapons, ensuring that no one did anything foolish.

The survivors hesitated.

This was a trap. It had to be.

Yet, when the king took a bite of his meal and drank from his goblet without a second thought, the tension eased—if the food were poisoned, he would have fallen first.

One by one, hunger won over fear.

They ate. Devouring the feast, tearing into the meat, gulping down mouthfuls of bread, letting the juices of the fruit drip down their fingers.

For the first time in days, they felt human again.

And then, the king spoke.

The Deal

"You have fought well."

King Greg's voice was laced with amusement, his goblet of wine twirling between his fingers.

"And so, I shall grant you a rare privilege. The top five survivors of tomorrow's battle will earn their freedom."

A stunned silence filled the hall.

Freedom?

For the first time since their capture, a glimmer of hope sparked in their hollow eyes.

But the king wasn't finished.

"However," he continued, leaning forward, his grin stretching wider, "only one will be granted a wish. Anything their heart desires."

Nile's stomach tightened.

A wish.

The words echoed in his mind, louder than the cheers and whispers around him.

A wish… anything.

His pulse quickened. Could he wish to go back home?

Back to his wife? His child?

The thought hit him like a flood.

He could escape this nightmare. He could wake up in his bed, hold his family again, pretend none of this had ever happened.

His fingers clenched against the table, knuckles turning white.

This was his chance.

He had to survive. He had to win.

The room held its breath as the king raised his goblet high.

"To the final battle! May the strongest among you rise!"

The survivors hesitated.

But with guards watching, they had no choice.

They lifted their goblets.

The moment the wine touched their lips—

Something was wrong.

A strange sensation coursed through them.

Their vision blurred.

Their bodies wavered.

One by one, they collapsed.

The feast had been a lie.

As the last prisoner slumped forward, the king took another slow sip from his goblet, chuckling under his breath.

"Let the real game begin."

The Awakening

When Nile stirred, a sharp pain throbbed in his skull.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, nausea clawing at his gut.

His fingers instinctively reached for his face—

Something was covering it.

A mask.

His breath hitched.

He shot upright, disoriented, eyes darting around. He wasn't in the banquet hall anymore.

The warm glow of torches was gone. The scent of food—gone. The chatter of survivors—gone.

He was alone.

Locked in a different prison cell.

His hands trembled as he looked down. His tattered prison rags were gone.

He was dressed in something else.

The realization sent panic surging through him.

He gripped the iron bars, his voice raw.

"ETHAN!"

No answer.

Beyond the cold stone walls, he could hear faint stirring, muffled voices—other survivors waking to the same nightmare.

They were separated.

And whatever awaited them next—

They would face it alone.

But Nile's mind wasn't just reeling from the sudden shift in reality—

It was replaying one thing over and over.

"Only one will be granted a wish."

His jaw tightened.

If he survived this, if he won—

He would wish to go home.