Day !

The arena had changed.

Six colossal screens, constructed from a synchronized formation of twenty-four Formex Whisps, hovered in the sky like celestial panels. The screens flickered between names, glyphs, shifting terrain maps, and countdown timers. Below them, the air buzzed with anticipation.

A commanding voice rang out, clear and amplified by the embedded sound runes in the sky:

"Ten minutes to prepare. Quickly proceed to your designated positions. You are free to form teams."

Immediately, the energy in the waiting grounds shifted. Clusters of participants began forming rings, whispering, shaking hands, and marking territories. Others broke away, seeking solitude or scanning the crowd for allies—or threats. Jimmy, as always, remained still.

He sat on his solitary chair, draped in a black coat, blindfold shadowing his expression. A small device on his wrist projected data, which he traced with his gloved fingers. The numbers danced as he ran simulations—time estimations, terrain conditions, team odds.

No one had approached him.

Officials from the organizing committee moved down the rows. One by one, they checked the readiness of participants, marked them off, and whispered codes.

Jimmy overheard a few details.

"Five hundred... beyond what we expected."

"...Had to divide it into five sections."

"A through E. Each section has 100 players."

His badge blinked faintly: D27.

The announcer's voice returned, layered with artificial gravity.

"Participants, listen carefully. Each of your badges now has a value. A1, B1, C1, D1, and E1—those are worth 100 points. A100 to E100—worth 1 point. Your badge rank defines your score. Each badge also multiplies with a scaling factor from 100 to 1, descending accordingly. Defeat an opponent, claim their badge, and your score increases accordingly."

The screen showed examples:

C04 (97 pts) defeats C89 (12 pts). Total score becomes 1164 pts.

A01 (100 pts) defeats C01 (100 pts). Total score becomes 10000 pts.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Alliances wavered.

Bonds forged moments ago broke. Eyes narrowed, whispers turned to sharp glares. A silent understanding passed through the arena: trust no one.

"The battlefield has three major zones: Outer Ring, Mid-Tier Zone, and the Summit. Each terrain varies in difficulty, but no details will be given. Adapt."

Gasps echoed.

Jimmy's fingers paused.

"Each section has five stations in the Outer Ring, three in Mid-Tier, and one atop the Summit. Stations are visible—but guarded. No fighting is allowed within station radius. Any battle attempt will reset you to the starting point and clear your accumulated points."

Cries of disbelief, murmurs of fear, and nervous laughter spread.

Then came the final warning.

"Our five Aetherglyn Whisps will now teleport you randomly within the Outer Ring. You are all in Zone 1, but scattered. The competition will last three days. Survival, intelligence, healing, and adaptability are critical."

The screen showed images of herbs, healing pods, potion icons.

"Potions can be bought using points. Herbs can be found and sold at stations to gain points. Be aware—battles may occur near or around stations. Stations are safe zones—but not the paths to them."

A final pause.

"Good luck. Don't panic. The match begins in sixty seconds."

The six screens aligned vertically, flashing one word across all displays:

........................

Without sound, without warning, the world shattered.

Light swallowed them.

Jimmy vanished, disassembled like particles in wind, and was hurled through a dimension stitched by Aetherglyn Whisps. It was silent and shimmering—a corridor between locations, woven through space.

He awoke in a mountainous zone beneath a cliff, wind howling against black rock, terrain arid but full of narrow paths. His black coat fluttered. He exhaled slowly and stood. His Codex blinked: Zone 1 – Sector 4A.

Luna emerged silently from his Mind's Garden, shimmering with a light frost around her mane. Her eyes scanned the zone.

Far away, the faint outline of a station glowed on a hill. But between him and that glow lay unknown paths, shifting fog, and the promise of ambush.

A beep sounded. Jimmy looked at his badge.

"D27 – 73 pts. Score Active. No enemies nearby."

Behind him, something moved.

He turned—

—but nothing was there.

Yet.

To be continued...

.........................

5 mins before......

As the announcement echoed across the arena, the sea of competitors erupted in a symphony of voices—some hushed, others outright frantic.

"Wait... 100 points for A1? That's insane. We're walking trophies now," muttered a boy from Section A, clutching his badge tightly.

"So if someone takes out C1, they shoot up the rankings fast..." whispered a girl with lightning tattoos across her arms, eyes narrowing at her current allies.

Another said 'no ultimately you have to take those flags. Even though you have points you can't win.'

Friendships, just minutes old, cracked.

Some teammates glanced at each other with suspicion.

"We're still good... right?" one participant asked his trio nervously. Silence followed.

"This changes everything," another growled, already stepping away from his squad.

The weight of the new rules caused trust to rot almost instantly. Greed bloomed where camaraderie had begun to grow. Players began scanning the crowd for badge numbers, eyes darting to arms and chests. Some even hid their identifiers beneath cloaks or armor scraps.

Nervous laughter peppered the field.

"Ha, can't believe they turned us into walking currency..."

Others were furious.

"Why weren't we told this earlier?! We made teams based on trust!"

"This is a bloodbath in disguise," someone hissed, storming toward the edge of the field.

Yet amid the chaos, a few remained eerily calm. Veterans of underground trials, experienced competitors, or those who had trusted no one to begin with.

"They're culling us through distrust," a tall woman with a crescent staff murmured. "Classic tournament design—pit psychology against willpower."

Panic brewed alongside ambition. Some swore they'd climb to the top no matter what. Others whispered about hiding until Day 3. A few cracked under pressure before the trial even began.

When the teleportation announcement came, most didn't even react with surprise—they were already emotionally spent, bracing for impact.

And when the countdown reached zero, many weren't just ready for battle—they were ready to betray.

continue.......

In the great Colosseum hovering miles above the competition grounds, nobles, scholars, investors, and former champions filled the stands. Enchanted projection runes mirrored the six massive Formex Screens hovering over the arena, allowing even those in the highest rows to see every detail.

The moment the badge point system was revealed, the viewing platform erupted.

"They've turned it into a hunt! Look at that girl, she's trying to hide her badge already!" said a rotund merchant, wine glass trembling in his hand.

"Genius, truly," muttered a tall woman in royal armor. "This will show who adapts and who was pretending."

A younger boy clutched his father's sleeve. "Father, is that fair? They made teams, then broke them."

His father replied, "Life breaks bonds faster than war does. This is a test of truth."

Scholars took notes feverishly.

"Fascinating behavioral experiment. Observe how fast alliances collapse."

Former champions watched with grim smiles.

"This is real. Not simulated training. This is what makes or breaks a fighter."

Some in the crowd were horrified.

"They'll eat each other alive down there."

"This isn't a competition—this is survival."

Still, others saw opportunity.

"Invest. Let's bet. For day 1 to day 3. if any one stays bet's will multiply by 10 each day ends."

Whispers spread like wildfire. Every motion of the participants was tracked, debated, and interpreted from above.