"Breathe."
The word cracked like lightning in the stillness.
Jonathan gasped.
Air ripped into his lungs, scalding and thick. Real. He choked on it, coughing out sand and bile before rolling onto his side. Heat slammed into him like a wall. The ground was a rough mesh of stone and roots, warm beneath his fingers. Jungle rot and scorched moss hung in the air like a warning.
A shriek tore across the sky.
He flinched and looked up.
A winged creature with too many legs briefly blotted out the sun before vanishing into the green haze above. Trees towered like ancient monoliths, their branches laced with pulsing blue vines.
Jonathan sat up.
His coveralls were gone. In their place, scavenged armor: leather straps crossing a sleeveless tunic, copper bracers, boots patched with insect chitin. A metallic band circled his left wrist, pulsing faintly.
> PLAYER: JONATHAN VIRELL
SKIN: DUST-EATER OF LORAM FIELD
STATUS: ACTIVE
ATTRIBUTE: NONE
SPECIAL ABILITY: ATTRIBUTE RETENTION [SEALED]
GRAND POTENTIAL: 22
NEXT STAGE BEGINS IN: 2 HOURS 13 MINUTES
LOCATION: VERDANT ABYSS – SOUTHERN TIER
He read the words, his mind spinning. Then—
> "Welcome to the Grand Finale, Jonathan Virell. You are currently in a Level-One danger zone. Survival chance: 8.2%. Tactical analysis: Seek cover. Seek allies. Do not provoke fauna."
"…Glad to see sarcasm made it to the afterlife," he muttered.
He tapped on "Grand Potential."
A window opened in his vision.
> Grand Potential (G.P.):
Your potential to evolve within the Grand Finale. Affects adaptability, response to stage stimuli, relic interaction, and reward eligibility.
Increases with bold actions, smart tactics, and survivor influence.
Decreases with cowardice, inaction, or loss of purpose.
"Twenty-two, huh," he muttered. "So I'm barely a C-student in death."
Something rustled to his right.
He turned sharply. Years of fixing broken things had trained him well—stay low, watch first. His eyes followed the movement in the bushes—
A girl burst through, panting, blood trailing from a cut on her cheek.
"Down!" she hissed, not slowing.
He dropped without thinking.
A second later, a spiny beast crashed through the trees, barbed tail thrashing. It screeched, sniffed where the girl had vanished, then lumbered away.
Jonathan exhaled.
The girl reappeared. Red braids, dirt-streaked face, a broken polearm in one hand. Her shirt was a ripped military uniform with sleeves rolled up and hand-stitched patches. Seventeen, maybe twenty.
"You new?" she asked, not unkindly.
"Just woke up choking," he said. "Still jetlagged from dying, I think."
She snorted. "Right. I'm Vikka. You?"
"Jonathan. Virell."
She scanned him quickly. "No attribute. Low GP. Damn. They dropped you raw."
"Yeah, I'm told I'm special like that."
Vikka tapped her wristband. "First stage hits in two hours. Temple's nearby. The first Grand Emerald's probably inside."
"Wait. A real Grand Emerald? Already?"
She nodded. "They always drop one at the start. Lure players in. Watch them tear each other apart for it."
"You sound cynical."
"I've been here twelve days."
Jonathan gave a dry smile. "Guess that makes you a veteran."
"It does when most don't make it past three."
They walked. The terrain thickened—chair-sized fungi, twitchy vines. Climbing a slope, Vikka glanced back.
"You know what the Grand Emeralds do, right?"
He nodded. "Collect twelve, you come back to life."
"Exactly. That's the real game. These stages? Just bait."
"Then why bother?"
"Because stages give relics, food, maps, weapons. Skip them, you die anyway."
She pointed. A hill rose above the trees, topped by jagged ruins glowing faintly.
"The Temple of Echoes," she said. "That's the stage arena."
A metallic ping echoed through the jungle.
> SYSTEM BROADCAST:
STAGE ONE — "VOICE OF THE FORGOTTEN"
OBJECTIVE: ENTER THE TEMPLE AND UNSEAL THE CHAMBER OF TRUTH.
REWARD: RELIC TIER ITEM + 500 G.P. + 1 ATTRIBUTE-ELIGIBLE TOKEN
PENALTY FOR NON-PARTICIPATION: -30 G.P.
PENALTY FOR FAILURE: MEMORY FRAGMENT REDUCTION
Jonathan winced. "Memory reduction?"
Vikka nodded. "They delete part of your past. It doesn't grow back."
He went quiet. Losing more of himself... No. He couldn't afford that.
They reached the outer wall. Half a dozen players stood there, armored in scraps, holding salvaged weapons. A tall man with silver tattoos nodded.
"New arrivals?" Calm voice. Clipped. Maybe British. "Good. We need more bodies."
Vikka mock-saluted. "Still clinging to democracy, Tesh?"
"Until the panic starts."
Jonathan scanned the group. Three women, two men. One ex-military, one a scavenger with circuit-thread gloves. One girl had six glowing orbs floating around her like stars.
Jonathan's wrist buzzed.
> PLAYER SCAN ENABLED. VIEW PROFILES?
[Yes] [No]
He tapped [Yes].
> Teshaal Ryke
Attribute: Chrono Split
GP: 64
Status: Calm
Liari of Solgrid
Attribute: Psionic Pressure
GP: 77
Status: Focused
Dren Velk (No Scan Data Available)
Attribute: Unknown
GP: ???
Status: Redacted
> Some players may hide stats or identity. Proceed carefully.
Jonathan closed it.
Teshaal called them to the gate. "Unseal the Chamber of Truth. Probably puzzles. Traps. Mind games. Maybe worse."
Vikka groaned. "Of course."
Jonathan raised a hand. "And if someone grabs the Emerald?"
"Then everyone else decides whether to fight... or follow."
He nodded.
This wasn't about brute force. It was layered. Strategic. It would take more than luck.
He looked up again. Something shimmered at the top of the temple—a green pulse, slow and steady.
One of twelve.
And the whole world would know the moment someone touched it.