Cold.
A hard, unforgiving cold pressed against Alex's cheek.
Steel.
The dull, metallic chill seeped through his ragged clothes, biting at his skin like ice.
He blinked once, twice.
The world was fuzzy, a blur of shadows and shapes too dim to recognize.
The air tasted stale—thick with the acrid scent of rust and sweat.
It clung heavy and suffocating, like a tomb sealed shut.
Somewhere nearby, a soft whimper broke the silence.
Another child.
Or maybe many.
Alex's mind scrambled, trying to focus, trying to grasp the shape of his surroundings.
His head felt heavy, his vision swimming in murky darkness.
He moved his hand slowly—fingertips brushing against the cold floor.
Cold steel.
Cold, unyielding steel.
The faint echo of dripping water, distant and hollow, bounced off unseen walls.
He wasn't alone.
Far from it.
Blurry figures lay strewn in endless rows, silent, still.
Their gray rags dirt-streaked and torn.
Alex's breath came shallow, ragged.
He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt leaden, slow.
The faint pulse at his neck throbbed steadily.
The Chainbind Mark.
A dull, aching reminder of captivity.
He was trapped.
And somewhere beyond his fading senses, the quiet dread of countless others filled the air.
As his eyes adjusted, shapes became sharper.
Slowly, Alex took in his prison.
He lay in the center of a vast chamber.
The ceiling arched above, a dome so immense it swallowed sound whole.
Its metallic ribs curved upward, fading into shadow and darkness.
Faint, dim red lights flickered overhead, like dying coals struggling against night.
The air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of iron and old sweat.
All around him, children sat in neat rows—rows that stretched endlessly in every direction.
One thousand.
A thousand ragged children, eyes hollow and distant.
Their faces gaunt, some stained with tears, others expressionless.
The floor beneath them was cold steel, slick with grime.
The walls seemed to close in—a suffocating cage of metal and silence.
Above, a massive digital screen flickered.
It pulsed softly, humming with ominous life.
"T O T A L : 1 0 0 0"
The number loomed, glowing faintly red against the oppressive shadows.
Alex's throat tightened.
A heavy weight settled in his chest.
The scale of this nightmare.
A thousand children.
A thousand souls trapped beneath this dome.
And somewhere in the shadows, watching.
Waiting.
No one spoke.
No cries, no whispers, no words of comfort.
Only the soft shuffle of restless feet, the quiet drip of moisture from unseen cracks.
Some children bowed their heads, weeping silently.
Others stared ahead, faces pale and empty.
Alex's eyes scanned the crowd.
A sea of gray rags, gaunt faces, broken spirits.
A thousand trapped hopes flickering dimly beneath chains they could not see.
He reached up, fingers trembling, touching his neck.
The Chainbind Mark burned faintly beneath his skin.
A dull, rhythmic throb.
It pulsed with a quiet menace, suppressing, controlling.
A cold reminder of powerlessness.
Around him, the air grew heavier still.
The dome seemed to breathe with them, inhaling despair.
Alex swallowed the lump in his throat.
His thoughts spun wildly.
How had they ended here?
Who was behind this?
And what would come next?
His heartbeat quickened.
A distant sound—metal grinding—cut through the silence.
He snapped his gaze toward the dome's far end.
Massive doors loomed there, sealed tight against the crowd.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered.
A thunderous clang echoed through the dome.
The doors—the size of ancient city gates—began to grind open.
A chilling wind rushed in, cold and dry.
And through the widening gap, tall figures stepped forward.
Armored from head to toe, their faces hidden beneath dark helmets.
They dragged long, glowing chains behind them.
The chains hissed softly, alive with a cold, eerie light.
The children shifted uneasily.
Some whispered prayers.
Others stiffened, frozen in fear.
Alex clenched his fists.
The game had begun.
The Bleeding Quarries were awake.
And escape was nowhere in sight.
A thunderous clang shattered the stillness.
The sound echoed through the vast dome like a distant explosion, reverberating off the cold steel walls.
Alex's head snapped up.
Before him, the massive doors at the far end of the arena began to move.
They were colossal—made of thick iron plates, scarred and scratched, with towering rivets that looked like ancient scars.
The grinding noise was deafening, a slow, deliberate groan as if the entire structure was awakening.
Dim red lights flickered overhead, casting long, twisted shadows that danced like restless spirits.
The children's eyes widened in silent terror.
Some clutched at one another; others froze, unable to move.
The doors parted with a final, agonizing screech, revealing figures stepping into the arena.
Tall.
Imposing.
Their armor was blackened metal, etched with strange, arcane symbols that shimmered faintly in the red light.
Their faces were hidden beneath heavy helmets—featureless masks with slitted visors that glowed coldly.
In their hands, they dragged long chains that hissed and whispered like living serpents.
The chains pulsed with an eerie, pale blue light, writhing and coiling as if breathing.
Each step the figures took was measured and silent, betraying no haste.
They spread out in precise formation, encircling the crowd of children like predators closing in on prey.
No words were spoken.
No orders shouted.
Only the soft, sinister hiss of the glowing chains filled the thick air.
Alex's heart hammered in his chest.
He swallowed the lump of fear rising in his throat.
The weight of helplessness crashed down on him again.
The Chainbind Mark on his neck pulsed in rhythm with the cold steps.
The armored figures stopped, their gaze piercing the crowd without a trace of mercy or compassion.
The dome seemed to grow darker, colder.
The children's breath caught in their throats.
The time had come.
There was no turning back.
A grinding sound broke the heavy silence.
It came from the very center of the arena—deep, mechanical, and relentless.
Alex's eyes snapped toward the source.
A steel platform, dull and scarred, began to rise from beneath the floor.
The metal surface gleamed faintly under the flickering red lights, each joint and seam groaning as it emerged.
The platform was large—at least twenty feet across—with rails of cold iron circling its edges.
Slowly, steadily, it climbed upward, lifting a figure standing motionless at its center.
The figure was tall, cloaked in a heavy fabric stitched with countless metal rings that clinked softly with each slight movement.
The cloak shimmered like a dark wave, absorbing the dim light around it.
His posture was rigid, unmoving, yet the weight of his presence filled the entire arena.
His face was hidden behind a mask — smooth, expressionless, crafted from blackened steel.
The mask reflected no light, revealing nothing of the man beneath.
Alex's breath caught.
Even the armored guards standing around seemed to fall silent in respect or fear.
The dome itself felt colder, heavier.
The air thickened with anticipation.
The children's eyes were glued to the platform, their bodies tense with dread.
The giant digital screen above them hummed quietly, casting a pale glow that flickered over the masked figure.
A silence deeper than before settled over the crowd.
No one dared to move or breathe too loudly.
Alex's Chainbind Mark throbbed steadily, echoing the mechanical pulse of the rising platform.
The cloaked figure remained still, an unyielding symbol of authority.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze inside the dome.
The only sound was the soft clinking of metal rings sewn into the cloak, like a whispered warning.
The figure's presence was undeniable—silent but commanding absolute control.
The arena held its breath.
And then, the moment shattered.
The silence shattered.
A voice, cold and hollow, split through the dome like a blade.
"Welcome to the Bleeding Quarries."
No grand flourish. No echoing fanfare.
Just finality.
The words hung heavy in the stale air.
The children's breaths hitched, a thousand silent gasps swallowed by the oppressive dome.
The masked figure's voice was steady—unwavering.
No hint of mercy, no trace of pity.
Only a sharp, brutal truth laid bare.
The digital screen flickered.
Below the greeting, a countdown began — "BEGIN IN 00:59."
Fifty-nine seconds.
The crowd's tension coiled tighter.
Eyes darted, searching for a way out.
None found.
No doors. No exits.
Just the cold steel floor beneath them, the dim red lights above, flickering like dying embers.
The armored guards moved.
Slowly at first.
Then with a terrifying precision.
Their blackened armor clanked as they stepped forward.
Chains—long, glowing with an eerie blue light—uncoiled from their iron grips.
They hissed softly, like serpents waking from slumber.
The chains slid across the floor, writhing, alive.
A ripple ran through the line of children.
Panic flared.
A small child near Alex whimpered, trembling as the chains crept closer.
Some tried to scramble back, but the crowd was thick—no room to run.
Doors that had thundered open just moments before now sealed shut with an unforgiving clang.
There was no escape.
The hiss of the chains grew louder, more urgent.
One child screamed.
The sound was sharp, raw — a piercing note of terror that echoed and bounced off the dome's cold walls.
Alex's heart pounded.
His breath caught in his throat.
But he didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He didn't even blink.
The glowing chains slithered forward with unnatural speed.
They wrapped around legs, snaking up arms, tightening like living restraints.
Some children cried out, struggling futilely as the chains held firm, binding them in place.
Others simply went silent, eyes wide and unseeing.
The arena felt suffocating.
The metallic scent thickened, mixed with the sharp tang of fear and sweat.
Alex's hand instinctively went to his neck.
The Chainbind Mark there pulsed faintly.
A dull throb, a reminder of the unseen control gripping every prisoner in this hellish pit.
The chains coiled tighter, their glow brightening as they absorbed the subdued energy of the captured.
The figure on the platform watched.
Unmoved.
Silent.
A terrifying calm radiated from him.
No command came.
No order.
Just that relentless presence.
A god of control and despair.
The crowd's panic grew, but the figure did not react.
His stillness was more frightening than any shout.
Alex's mind raced.
Why no commands?
Why this silence?
What game was being played here?
Around them, the dome itself seemed to hum with dark energy.
The red lights flickered more violently.
The digital screen flashed words in rapid succession:
"SURVIVAL TEST INITIATED."
"CHAINBIND MARKS ENGAGED."
"OBEDIENCE MANDATORY."
The children's faces were pale.
The weight of hopelessness pressed down like the heavy metal dome itself.
Alex's eyes caught movement near the edge—a shadow slipping past the guards.
But before he could focus, the glowing chains snapped tight, pulling a scream into a strangled silence.
Alex swallowed the rising tide of fear.
The Chainbind Mark pulsed stronger now, but he felt the flicker beneath it—a faint spark of resistance.
His mind sharpened, senses sharpening through the haze of panic.
This was no ordinary punishment.
This was spectacle.
A brutal game for someone's entertainment.
And if he survived, he would have to tear it all down.
For now, there was only one truth.
The chains moved faster.
The doors were gone.
There was no escape.
Only the cold, merciless dome.
The glowing chains hissed, tightening around the crowd.
One child's scream was cut short.
Alex's breath caught—he did not breathe.
The masked figure said nothing.
The arena fell into a crushing silence.
And the Bleeding Quarries had begun.