Cold.
That was the first thing Vincent felt.
Not the cold of a hospital room, or the sharp wind as he fell. It was heavier and stickier. Like the air itself was wet and clinging to his skin. He took a quick, sharp breath. And then he smelled it.
Iron… Smoke... And something rotten underneath.
Vincent's eyes snapped open. It wasn't total darkness. There was a faint, flickering red light, like dying embers. His head hurt badly, and when he tried to move, pain shot through his body.
"Guh…!" He gasped and curled up instinctively. 'Am I alive?' That thought felt wrong, especially after Vincent remembered how he wanted to die. He remembered falling. The breezing summer night wind in Ruhr Viaduct, the bridge disappearing above him, everything flipping upside down. There should have been pain, a hard crash, darkness… maybe even death.
But now, he was lying on something soft and uneven.
'Grass?' He thought with a frown. 'No.' Vincent reached out with shaky fingers and touched what was beneath him. It felt like turf, but not normal grass. It was rough, sticky in places, and warm.
Warm.
He still didn't know what it was, yet it seemed his body recognized the danger of this situation already. His fingers started to get numb, and he was also on the verge of hyperventilating. His stomach felt sick, as if he was about to vomit on the spot.
Slowly, he pushed himself up. His head spun as he looked around. He saw tall stone seats all around him, forming a giant circle. A stadium.
'A football stadium.' His heart skipped a beat. A little relief washed over him for a moment for the familiar field before he could think too much. 'A… stadium? Why… Am I being here? Am I… Getting kidnapped?' He frowned once again, feeling dread looming through every single hair of his body.
Then, Vincent turned his attention back to the stains on the ground, the thing that had been bothering his mind for a while. Dark splashes covered the ground, soaked deep into the dirt. Some were fresh and shiny in the red light. Others had dried into black patches.
That was when realization hit hard, and color seemed to be drained from his face.
'Is… Is this blood?!' Vincent froze in panic. His breath hitched as he saw shapes on the field. Bodies.
People's bodies.
Some were twisted at impossible angles, some were missing limbs. A few still twitched.
A choking sound escaped his throat. "This… this isn't real," he whispered. "I'm dreaming! I have to be." Then, he looked up to the sky, and where the floodlights should have been, big braziers burned instead, hanging by thick chains. The sky above was strange—dark clouds swirling around a blood-red moon.
The crowd roared, enough to make Vincent flinch. This reminded him of a bad away game where the home supporters were ready to go down and beat all the people on the pitch. However, the terror that day was way paler compared to what he felt right now.
That was when he saw he wasn't alone.
The stands weren't filled with normal human beings. They were filled with creatures. Huge figures with horns and scales. Thin shapes with glowing eyes and pointy ears. Beasts standing upright, wearing armor and cloaks. Their voices blended into a loud, savage noise.
They weren't cheering.
They were howling.
A cold fear crept up Vincent's spine. "W—What the fuck is this place…?" he asked, his voice trembling. He looked down at himself.
No hospital gown.
No cast.
No crutch.
He was dressed in rough clothes that he didn't recognize. They were dirty and stained with blood. Blood that wasn't his. His injured leg—he braced himself for pain—But when he moved it, there was no pain.
Vincent's breath caught.
"No… no, no, no…" He stood up too quickly, almost falling, but his legs held him steady. His heart was pounding. "This is just a dream! I need to wake up quickly!" His breath was heavy, and he started to slap his cheek repeatedly, trying to wake himself up from this nightmare. Before he could think more, a loud horn echoed across the stadium, and the crowd's roar grew louder.
On the far side of the field, huge gates creaked open. Something stepped out with a heavy and imposing stomp, creating a small earthquake that was enough to make Vincent take a step back. And in that moment, he knew the terrible truth.
This wasn't a dream.
And whatever was coming, it was about to start.
-0-
"Ladies! Gentlecreatures! And you lovely things with too many teeth!" the voice laughed. "Welcome back to tonight's main event!"
The crowd exploded. Roars, screeches, howls. The noise crashed down on the field like a physical weight, enough to destroy anyone's eardrums.
The one who spoke throughout the funnel that somehow also worked as a microphone was a normal-height creature with the upper half of a Triceratops. A strange combination, definitely, even with the standard of a fantasy world creature. He acted as the broadcaster today, ready to guide anyone in the stadium for today's bloodbath.
Yeah, bloodbath. After all, football in this world didn't really have any reservations. Even though the rule was still the same as any normal football game, but for races with a stronger physicality like Dragon or even Orc, knocking out one or two opponents' players was something that they were quite proficient with. There was a reason for their dominance on the football field, after all.
"Today's match comes to us courtesy of the ever-so-generous Lysandria Kingdom!" That triceratops declared. "A kingdom so brave! So desperate! That they've decided to place a very special wager!"
The crowd leaned in.
"Oh? What's that?" the announcer asked himself theatrically, pressing a clawed hand to his ear. "You want to know the stake?"
He laughed.
"They're betting one thousand of their people."
The reaction was immediate. From the disbelief gasp in the beginning, cheers suddenly followed up, with the laughter echoing as the music background for the funeral of those 1000 humans. This was exactly what they came for.
"Damn! 1000 heads! I am so envious?!"
"How many players would those barbarians send out to get their win?!"
"I bet it would be four!"
"Ha! You are being too conservative! Remember the last time they played against each other? Those barbarians sent 7 players out of the game!"
"Bah! That is because they kept getting away with the foul! The organizer and the referee would never let that offense slide again!"
"Well, let's see whose bet is the closest!"
Yeah, instead of caring about the score, everyone here paid more attention to how many players would end up in the infirmary. After all, in this world, football was not just a game. It was a battlefield, and the players in the field were the gladiators fighting for life. Rather than winning with a clean tactic, all the races wanted to gain their victory with a blood bath, instilling fear through their enemies' bones.
Amidst the cheerful crowd, though, a depressing silence fell upon a small section behind the goalie. The spectators there, coming from the human race, could be seen as being lifeless, with some children starting to sob. Yeah, those were the representatives of 1000 people that the kingdom used as a wager for their bet, and honestly, even though they were all unwilling, most people there were ready to meet their death.
However, it would be a lie if they said that they didn't hope for a miracle. While no one dared to raise their voice, everyone was on the same page. All of them prayed inwardly for a savior who could help them escape the death god that was so close to getting their neck.
One of them, a little girl with shabby and slightly tattered clothes, closed her eyes and put both her hands together, inwardly muttering with a tone full of solemnity, "God… Please, if you really exist, help us survive this disaster. Just for once… Please, help humanity regain our dignity today, I beg you…'
Then, as the cheers started to dissipate, the announcer added once again, "To our players down on the pitch—remember!" He raised a clawed finger. "The audience paid good money to see blood tonight. So, keep the body number high, okay?"
Right after that, the horn suddenly rang again.
Long.
Loud.
Final.
"THEN, IF YOU ALL ARE READY, LET THE MATCH BEGIN!"