Kieran Wolfe hit the ground—hard.
The impact sent him tumbling across the cracked stone bridge, his body skidding like a ragdoll. Pain exploded through every nerve, and for a brief moment, he was certain he'd shattered something.
But he was alive. Somehow.
Gasping, he forced himself onto his hands and knees, his vision swimming. Around him, battle raged. Screams. Explosions. The scent of blood and burning stone.
It was like he had been dropped into the middle of a warzone.
And then—
BOOM.
A shockwave erupted nearby, sending dust and debris flying. Kieran coughed violently, his lungs stinging. Through the chaos, he barely made out the source—
A man cloaked in shadows, his hands wreathed in jagged purple lightning, stood amidst a pile of bodies.
His gaze snapped toward Kieran.
For a moment, they locked eyes.
Then—the man moved.
Too fast. Inhuman.
Kieran barely had time to react before a blade of crackling energy sliced toward his throat.
Instinct screamed at him to move.
And somehow—he did.
His body twisted at the last second, rolling out of the way just as the blade cleaved the stone where he had been a second before.
Heart pounding, Kieran scrambled to his feet, his mind racing.
What the hell is happening?!
He was in his apartment just minutes ago. One moment he had been staring at his laptop screen, half-asleep, and the next—this.
A battlefield. Monsters. People trying to kill him.
The man who had attacked him stepped forward. His face was unreadable beneath the hood, but his glowing violet eyes burned with something primal.
"Newcomer," the man muttered, voice tinged with disappointment.
Then, without hesitation, he raised his blade for another strike.
Kieran was going to die.
His body screamed for him to move, but the attack was already coming—faster than he could ever hope to dodge.
Then, suddenly—
A gunshot.
The cloaked man's head snapped to the side as a bullet tore through his shoulder, sending him staggering back.
Kieran turned toward the source.
A woman stood atop a pile of rubble, a smoking pistol in her hand.
She was tall, clad in tattered black combat gear, her platinum hair tied back into a messy braid. Her piercing silver eyes flickered with something dangerous.
She didn't waste time.
"Get up," she ordered. "If you can move, move. If not, you're dead weight."
Kieran's breath hitched. He didn't know her, but something about her presence—the sheer authority in her voice—made him obey without question.
Stumbling to his feet, he followed her as she turned and sprinted toward the nearest archway.
Behind them, the cloaked man snarled, but he didn't pursue.
Kieran didn't stop to wonder why.
He just ran.
The Arena's Law
They didn't stop running until they reached the ruins of an old cathedral.
The interior was barely intact, with broken pews and shattered stained glass strewn across the floor. Moonlight from the blood-red sky poured through the gaps in the roof, casting long shadows.
The woman holstered her pistol and turned to him.
"You're one of the new ones," she said. It wasn't a question.
Kieran nodded, still panting.
The woman studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Of course you are."
She crossed her arms. "Listen carefully, because I don't have time to hold your hand. This is the Forsaken Arena. You were chosen. That means you have two choices—survive or die."
Kieran swallowed. "That... doesn't explain anything."
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"You have a Forsaken Mark, don't you?" she asked.
Kieran blinked. A Mark?
Then, suddenly—he felt it.
A burning sensation on his left forearm. When he glanced down, his breath caught.
There—etched into his skin—was a glowing sigil. An intricate, shifting pattern of symbols that seemed almost alive.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered.
The woman exhaled. "That's your Forsaken Brand. It means you're part of the game now."
"Game?"
"Yes. The gods are watching. And we? We're their entertainment."
Kieran's mind reeled. Gods? Entertainment?
"Every month," the woman continued, "five hundred people are brought here. Some return. Most don't. If you survive long enough, you might make it back home. But don't expect to go back the same."
She reached into her pocket and tossed something at him.
Kieran caught it instinctively—a small, metallic device, roughly the size of a watch.
"That's your Status Interface," she explained. "Use it to check your abilities, skills, and progress."
"Abilities?"
"You'll understand soon enough."
Kieran hesitated, then pressed the screen. Instantly, text appeared in the air before him.
---
[Name: Kieran Wolfe]
[Rank: Unranked]
[Essence: 0]
[Abilities: ???]
---
Kieran frowned. "I don't have any abilities."
"Not yet," the woman said. "You'll earn them if you survive."
She turned toward the entrance, her expression grim. "But first, you'll have to make it through the first Trial."
"Trial?"
BOOM.
The cathedral shook.
A distant roar echoed across the ruins, deep and guttural.
The woman tensed. "It's starting."
Outside, the sky seemed to darken, as if something massive was approaching.
Kieran felt a cold sweat drip down his neck.
"What... what is that?" he asked.
The woman's jaw tightened.
"One of the Arena's first challenges," she said.
Her silver eyes flickered with something grim.
"Welcome to the Forsaken Arena, newcomer. Try not to die."