Chapter 17: Nile and The Dice of Fate

Nile's head throbbed as he regained consciousness, the damp scent of stone filling his nostrils. His body felt heavy, sluggish as if the very air weighed down on him—but something felt wrong.

The silence around him was unnerving, broken only by the distant shuffle of footsteps and hushed murmurs beyond the cold iron bars of his cell.

Then, he heard them.

The guards.

"The battle's about to begin," one muttered lowly.

"The king's genius," another chuckled. "Masked prisoners, separated. Let's see how they tear each other apart now."

Nile's heart spiked. Masks?

Ethan. The others. They were out there—but now, their faces would be concealed. No alliances. No trust. Just pure chaos.

Then—

A voice.

Not from the guards. Not from the world around him. But from within his very mind.

"Are you content?... Is this enough?... Do you want victory? Check your pocket... check your luck."

A shiver ran up his spine. His hand moved before he could think, instinctively sliding into his left pocket.

His fingers brushed against something soft, something eerily familiar.

A paper towel.

His breath caught. The same one. The one he had been staring at before waking up in this world.

How was it possible?

Then—

A faint glow pulsed from his right pocket. A cold, unnatural light flickered beneath his ribs. Nile froze. His fingers trembled as they reached for it. The moment he touched it, a strange, electric pulse shot through his arm.

His heart lurched.

A dice.

Before he could make sense of this strange phenomenon, rough hands grabbed him. Guards yanked him to his feet, and his vision spun with the lingering effects of the strange energy coursing through him. Without a word, they dragged him through dim, twisting corridors, the clanging of iron doors reverberating with every step.

Then—

He was shoved forward, into the blinding sunlight of the arena.

The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave. Sand swirled in the air as masked warriors collided in a frenzy. Their identities hidden beneath cold iron visors, the air reeked of blood and dust. Screams and the clash of weapons filled the battlefield.

Nile barely had time to process the chaos before a notification appeared in his mind:

"1 dead, one roll."

A side quest popped up before his eyes:

Side Quest Activated – "Survival Gamble"

Objective: Ensure you reach the Top 5 survivors.

Reward: Luck +10

"You only have 10 STR, 10 AGI, 10 VIT, 10 LUCK."

Nile's stomach sank. Weak. His odds of survival were slim.

Then, the voice came again—softer, but more commanding.

"For now, my power is limited… bound by your luck."

His pulse raced. Nile gripped the dice tightly.

"One dead, one roll."

He couldn't roll the dice yet.

The rules were clear—he could only roll when a death had occurred. The arena was a bloodbath, but he had to wait. His eyes darted around, watching the carnage unfold.

Then—whistling through the air—an arrow pierced the chest of another warrior.

One dead.

The count was now 19.

Nile's heart thudded in his chest. This was his chance.

He gripped the dice, fingers cold with anticipation.

"Roll... and let fate decide."

His breath quickened, and his hand tossed the dice into the air.

It spun, tumbling through the air, a blur of motion before landing heavily on the sand.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze.

Then—clink—the dice settled.

Nile's eyes widened. A 6.

The voice of the Eighth God rumbled in his mind, deep and ancient.

"You have rolled a 6. Speak to me, mortal."

A chilling wave of energy surged through Nile, and suddenly, the world around him seemed to warp. The sounds of the arena faded to a distant hum, and he found himself standing in a realm of darkness—a void beyond time and space.

A voice echoed, resonating within his very soul.

"I am the Eighth God. The Forbidden One."

Nile's heart raced. His grip tightened around the dice, but he dared not speak. Fear gnawed at his mind. Was this god an ally? Or just another force to manipulate him, to use him for its own purposes?

"You stand in my presence, mortal," the voice continued, its tone reverberating with ancient power. "The Seven Gods of this world have cursed me. Each of them summons champions to fight in the tournament for their own gain. But you... you are different. I offer you a chance to break their rules. To rewrite fate itself."

The darkness around him seemed to pulse with energy, as if the very fabric of reality was bending to the god's will.

"With me, you have the power to change this world, Nile. But first, you must prove your worth. Fight. Survive. And claim your place among the gods."

Nile's chest tightened. He could feel the weight of destiny pressing down on him. Could he trust this god? Was this his only chance? Or was it just another trap, another cruel twist in his already twisted fate?

But the choice was clear.

With nothing left to lose, Nile nodded, his voice steady despite the fear churning in his gut.

"I accept," he whispered.

The world around him flickered and snapped back into focus. The arena returned to its chaotic frenzy, the masked warriors still battling for their survival.

The voice of the Eighth God echoed in his mind once more, a final command.

"Fight, mortal. You have power now. Use it well."

As Nile prepared for the battle ahead, a final message appeared in his mind:

"You can only roll the dice 3 times per day."

A chill ran down his spine. Three rolls per day. That was it. The stakes were higher now—each roll would count.

The arena's bloodthirsty roars filled his ears as the battle raged on. Nile was no longer just a pawn—he was something more. His fate had changed, but whether that would lead him to victory or destruction, he could not yet say.

The dice had spoken.

Now, he had to survive.

2 rolls left. 19 survivors remain.

To be Continued..