Somewhere deep within the woods, three girls stood in a tight triangle each one with her weapon drawn, arms tense, breaths shallow. Not a bird chirped. Not a leaf stirred. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.
Aria's knuckles blanched around the handle of her spiked bat as her eyes locked onto Liana's.
"What do you think you're doing," she asked in a voice low and edged like glass, "pointing your weapon at me?"
Liana's gaze flicked briefly toward Mira, but her grip on the sword didn't waver.
"I should be asking Mira the same thing," she replied, cold and steady. "Why is her weapon aimed at me?"
Mira didn't flinch. She stood rigid, unmoving, like a statue carved from mistrust. Her blade gleamed faintly in the filtered forest light, trained on Liana without a tremble.
"Then maybe ask Aria," she said, her tone razor-sharp, "why hers is pointed at me."
The air grew denser, thick with tension wound tight as a drawn bow. No one blinked. No one moved. Only the unspoken threat slithered between them, coiling like a snake poised to strike.
Then Liana's voice broke through. "Okay," she said, raising one hand slowly between them, fingers splayed, her tone controlled but firm. "On the count of three, we all lower our weapons. Then we each take one step back."
No one answered. For a moment, only the forest's silence responded. Then, gradually, each girl gave a tiny nod barely perceptible, but enough.
Liana drew a breath.
"One…"
Nothing moved.
"Two…"
Muscles twitched. Breaths held. Fingers tensed.
"…Three."
With cautious, synchronized grace, each girl slowly began to lower her weapon.
Then—clack… clack… clack—three weapons hit the earth in near-unison. Like a tension wire finally snapping, the sound cut clean through the stillness.
"Now step back," Liana said, her voice still calm but edged with steel.
One step. Then another. Each girl retreated from the triangle, eyes still locked, feet deliberate. Like prey circling each other, waiting for one to blink first.
Liana ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly. "Before we start turning on each other," she said, "let's figure out who Player 2 really is or if he's even one of us. We need to work together."
Aria's eyes narrowed toward the trees. "And how do we know Player 2 isn't standing right here?" she muttered, suspicion dripping from every syllable.
Mira took a slight step forward. "The voice said we're all Player 3. If that's true, then maybe Player 2 isn't a student at all."
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument. Because it made too much sense.
Eventually, they each gave a reluctant nod. The triangle of mistrust loosened—but not completely.
For now, they would move as one. Not to survive—but to hunt.
And then the voice returned. Calm. Commanding. Mocking.
"Now… move."
The girls seized their weapons in an instant. And across the forest, others did the same. Students turned, some toward the deeper woods, others to the left or right, each swallowed by the looming shadows.
It didn't matter how you moved only that you did.
Walking made less noise. It gave you control.
It gave you the illusion of choice.
Weapons sheathed. Breaths shallow. Footsteps soft. The only sound was the brittle crunch of leaves and the tension creeping like cold up the spine.
"One…" the voice echoed again, dragging out the word.
"Two…" The tone was unhurried, almost entertained—like someone reclining on a velvet couch, savoring the unfolding chaos.
"Three…"
With each count, students pushed forward like pawns on a massive board. Some flinched. Others whispered prayers or held their breath. A few just walked, jaws set, eyes ahead.
Those in pairs or trios had the edge—extra eyes, extra instincts. But those alone… they were exposed.
---
Somewhere across the woods, Fin stood over three unconscious bodies. His gun hung loosely at his side. His face was expressionless.
"You backstabber…" one of them had rasped before collapsing. "How dare you betray us… when we promised to stick together, no matter what…"
Fin didn't blink.
He raised the gun and fired point-blank.
"That kind of thinking," he muttered, "you wouldn't survive in the world of Netherkins. I saved you the burden."
He looked down at the bodies, face cold, voice colder.
"You three were just pushovers. You'd have turned on me eventually. The rules here are simple—kill to survive."
Most of the students in this so-called Demon Forest had only just met.
There were no bonds. No loyalty.
Trust was a weakness—easily discarded if it bought you one more breath.
Killing wasn't personal. If you could do it, you did.
I veered left, silent. The injured girl in my arms couldn't be jostled—running would tear her wounds open. So I moved carefully. Quietly.
Elsewhere, chaos raged, two girls clashed violently with a boy.
And not too far from them, a pair of boys fought like animals—rand and desperate.
Steel, sweat, and blood marked their paths.
Player 1's design was working. Paranoia was the weapon. Students had begun to eliminate each other—driven by fear, suspicion, and the looming question:
What if they're Player 2?
Each number the voice called marked a minute.
And when he reached "Seven," a clearing appeared through the trees. It was thin, breathable. The western light filtered through—dim but visible. The trees parted just enough for air to move.
Scattered across the earth... we're bodies.
At first, I doubted the games. Maybe stuedent were just being dragged away. Maybe they weren't dead. Maybe it was all just a staged show. But something in the way they'd fallen… the angles… the stillness…
No. They'd been killed. And cruelly.
"Eight…"
"Nine…"
Still no one else in sight. Just me and the fallen, my breath and the echo of the count.
"Ten."
Everyone else across the woods halted—except those still in battle. And so did I.
A blanket of stillness swept across the woods. No rustle, no whisper. Just the echo of a game being played too well.
But just a few steps ahead of north beyond the tightly shifting trees, the leaves crunched. Someone hadn't stopped. They were still moving. Desperate. Maybe thinking they hadn't been noticed.
Then the voice of Player 1 came again—low, amused, and cruel. "Oh? Someone's still moving yet there is no opponent in sight…"
Every student across the woods tensed.
Was it them? Was it someone else?
"You're out."
The words echoed in a different eerie tone as if someone, upset or disappointed.
No scream, no flash, no sound of struggle. They just—vanished. Gone, like a candle snuffed in an empty room.
Gone like a candle snuffed by unseen fingers.
So that was the rule.
If you had an opponent, movement was permitted.
But if you were alone… You were erased.
—
From the carnage, deep in the city's underbelly, neon lights flickered over wet pavement. Blue and red glows painted the walls like bruises. Steam rose from cracked vents, curling into the air like ghosts of forgotten things, mixing with cigarette smoke and the sour tang of gasoline. The alleys were narrow, littered with broken glass and secrets no one dared speak aloud
Grandma Elunara stood at the edge of such alley, foot tapping anxiously against the stained concrete. Her coat fluttered faintly in the breeze. Sharp eyes scanned the passing crowd.
Around her, people moved fast—eyes low, collars up, pretending not to notice each other. The air was tight with tension, as if the whole district held its breath.
Moments later, Nellie emerged from the alley's shadow, her steps quick, urgent.
"Did you get it?" Grandma Elunara asked without looking at her.
Nellie nodded and held out a small, crumpled piece of paper. Grandma took it swiftly, her eyes narrowing as she read. The deeper she scanned, the more her brows furrowed.
"Are you sure this is it?"
"Yes," Nellie said, her voice steady. "He said this is where they were taking him."
Blood stained Nellie's fists and sleeves—fresh, smeared, unmistakable. She didn't explain it, and Grandma didn't ask. The truth was obvious.
Grandma let out a breath, low and grim. "I know this place, It's a black market. Hidden… cruel. I've known of it for years, but I've never stepped near it. No one does—unless they belong there."
She folded the paper and tucked it into her coat.
Then, she pulled out another slip of paper from her pocket—smaller, cleaner—and pressed it into Nelly's hand.
"You'll go here," she said. "I'll handle the black market."
Their eyes met briefly, wordlessly. Then Grandma turned, her figure blending into the neon-lit mist as she headed for the place no one dared to go.
—
Forty minutes passed since the last command. We stood frozen, waiting for the next phase, none of us dared taste the command again.
But I did. I stumbled on purpose, but Player 1's voice didn't even flinch. I took three more deliberate steps, still nothing.
So… either the rules didn't apply to Player 2, or the game had shifted again.
I pressed forward, slower this time. But something stirred within me. Subtle. Quiet. But growing.
By a large rock, I gently laid the girl down. Her breathing was faint, but steady. She didn't wake.
I crouched beside her. A heat had begun to build in my chest, crawling down my spine.
No. Not now. Not like this. Please.
I don't have Van with me—so just go back to your slumber.
If you awaken now… what comes next will be nothing but destruction and death.
I stripped off my shirt, not wanting to lose it, and stepped away, the forest pressing in with a cruel silence.
I sat at the base of a thick tree, bark rough against my back. My thoughts spun.
How do I move without drawing attention? How do I trick Player 1 without tipping off the others?
If I act too calm, they'll notice.
If I act too tense, they'll know.
But more importantly... Who is Player 1? And why do they sound like they're enjoying this far too much?