ivan
As Ivan continued moving through the forest, a strong scent of blood pierced his nose, scattered in various places. He tightened his grip on the chain around his forearm and focused all his senses with extreme caution, his eyes scanning the ground and branches for any movement. He wanted to avoid any surprises.
As he moved from one branch to another, he caught sight of contestants' bodies strewn across the ground like garbage thrown out after a beastly feast. The earth had turned into a carpet of dark crimson, and the exposed flesh glistened under the shafts of sunlight sneaking through the leaves.
On the opposite trunk, severed heads hung by thin threads, dangling slowly, as if the killer took pleasure in showcasing his sick art. The eyes were still open, staring into nothingness, and the tongues were cut out, as if eternal silence had been forced upon them.
Ivan froze in place, his eyes wide open in shock. The thick smell of blood that filled his nose made him nauseous and gave him a sharp headache, until he felt like his stomach was going to turn inside out.
"Things are getting even crazier... who's the maniac behind this?"
Ivan muttered as fear began to creep into his chest. Then he recalled Stone's words about the death row. "These acts could only belong to deranged killers… Yes, the death row he spoke of."
From above, one of the death row suddenly dove down onto the branch Ivan was standing on, swinging a massive sword aimed directly at his face. The element of surprise clearly shook Ivan.
he lost his balance for a moment and fell onto the trunk, causing the sword strike to slice through the branch instead of hitting him.
Ivan hit the ground hard, landing among scattered leaves. He rolled across the earth, then sprang up in a backflip, quickly regaining his balance, and stood in a firm combat stance—knees bent, right hand on the coiled chain.
He knew this fight wasn't some training match with Van—there was no room for mercy here. His enemy wouldn't hesitate to tear him apart and turn him into a disfigured corpse, just like the ones he saw moments ago.
"Damn it!" cursed the criminal, licking the blood-stained edge of his sword. His eyes gleamed with madness, half-closed, surrounded by a dark shadow, while his clothes soaked up blood like a canvas saturated with deep crimson.
"I was just about to lay the first stroke of my new painting on your face…" he said in a smooth, delightfully sinister voice.
Ivan responded sharply, keeping a safe distance between himself and the deranged man: "Did you do this to them?"
The criminal let out a strangled, hollow laugh before replying with a sickly smile, "Of course… I've been painting human canvases for years… and I'm still searching for that perfect masterpiece to satisfy my hunger. Were they your friends?"
Ivan answered with a cold tone full of contempt: "I barely knew them… but it looks like you're really enjoying being part of this bloody trial. Actually, I should thank you… You just gave me the motivation I needed. I've been looking for the first person to kill—and I wanted it to be the perfect model of evil and madness… And here you are, the ideal candidate."
The criminal moved toward Ivan with heavy steps, dragging his long sword behind him, creating a terrifying metallic scraping sound against the ground, as if he were signing off on an upcoming bloodbath. He let out a low chuckle, then said in a raspy voice,
"Your tongue… what a tongue you have, speaking words that don't belong here. None of them spoke like you. They only trembled, begged... some even threw their companions as bait just to escape."
He slowly raised his sword toward the sky, as if offering a tribute to the death-scented air, then brought it down with force toward Ivan's head. But Ivan, having anticipated the moment with sharp eyes, shifted his body at the precise instant, causing the sword to bury itself in the ground with a slight tremor.
Ivan then pulled the metal chain wrapped around his wrist, flung it toward the sword's hilt, coiled it tightly around it, and yanked it with a sudden, powerful pull.
The sword flew out of the criminal's hand and slammed into the trunk of a tree several meters away, leaving the man disarmed, his eyes widening in shock.
Ivan advanced with measured steps, spinning his chain in the air like an iron fan, a soft whistling sound rising from it. A cold smile spread across his lips, devoid of mercy, and he said in a mocking tone, "I've taken your brush... what will you create with now, artist?"
His words pierced his opponent's chest like a burning stab. The criminal clenched his teeth so tightly they seemed on the verge of shattering from the pressure. His face reddened, veins bulging.
Ivan thought for a moment he might explode. But suddenly, and unexpectedly, the rage turned into a mad laugh that shook his shoulders, seeming to rise from the depths of a disturbed mind.
In a hoarse voice, the man said, "A true artist always has backup tools… don't worry, I can still craft a new masterpiece… just hand me that face... those blue eyes will be perfect for the background."
The criminal slowly removed his jacket and threw it to the ground, revealing a taut, lean abdomen wrapped with a wide leather belt, packed with dozens of small knives. They gleamed under the light—short, thin, sharp as fangs.
He reached for the belt and pulled out several knives, fixing them between his fingers like claws. He clashed them together fiercely, producing tiny sparks.
The scene resembled a predator preparing to pounce, while his eyes watched Ivan with deadly hunger. Ivan, still glaring at his opponent's hands, said sarcastically, "Why don't you try your art on yourself? Who knows, you might be the masterpiece you've been searching for all these years."
The criminal chuckled, then responded with a voice dripping with sick pleasure, "No… I don't enjoy painting myself. I like painting others. I love watching their faces as they deform, moment by moment... those changes, from fear to hope, to despair. they bring me ecstasy."
He lunged at Ivan like a wild beast. His small knives, like the claws of a starving lion, rained down in relentless attacks from right and left. He struck with chaotic precision, savoring the sound of tearing air every time his blades sliced through the empty space. Ivan, despite the pressure, held his ground.
He stepped back, again and again, body tense, muscles coiled, eyes tracking every detail of his opponent's movements, clenching his teeth to stifle the tremble in his limbs.
When his back was about to hit a tree trunk, he made a gamble. He dropped low in a sudden move and slipped his body between the criminal's legs, taking advantage of their height difference. But the opponent wasn't foolish. he realized the trick at the last second and slashed his blades at the ground with deadly force.
But Ivan wasn't there. He had already jumped, and in a decisive moment, drove his knee hard into the criminal's jaw from below. The sound of teeth cracking mixed with the thud of his head hitting the ground, and a thin stream of blood slipped from the criminal's mouth and trickled down his neck, his body collapsing backward like a broken doll.
Ivan exhaled deeply. His chest rose and fell quickly, sweat trickling slowly down his brow, passing between his eyebrows and settling at the tip of his nose. His heart was pounding fiercely, but he remained standing firm, his eyes still sharp, body ready for the next round if needed.
In front of him, the criminal sat on the ground, clutching his bloodied mouth, letting out a faint laugh filled with both defeat and awe, a laugh that revealed a mouth now resembling a dark, hollow cave.
"It seems I underestimated you, boy," he said, spitting blood before offering a distorted smile that made his face look like a ruined mask. "You're strong... your movements are clean, and your eyes... they hold a confidence that's unnatural. You fight like you were born on a battlefield... tell me, how long have you been training?"
Ivan replied steadily, "About a month... and you're the first person I've fought in a real battle."
The criminal let out a laugh as he stood up, inhaled deeply, and tilted his head back toward the sky. Then, with a sharp tone soaked in pride, he said, "Only a month? Then I can't lose to a beginner like you!"
In an instant, he charged at Ivan with explosive speed, kicking up a swirl of dust behind him as if the ground itself was moving with him.
But Ivan, despite it all, didn't lose focus. His eyes tracked every motion, and soon the hand-to-hand combat ignited with fists and kicks exchanged rapidly.
The criminal's daggers nearly tore Ivan's face apart, but he quickly pulled back, flipping his body backward, then struck his opponent's hand with enough force to knock the knives into the air.
That gave him the chance to wrap his chain around the criminal's torso and leap behind him, yanking him hard toward the ground with a loud slam.
Ivan lowered his guard for a second. The criminal took advantage of that, pulled the chain violently, and Ivan's body was dragged forward off-balance—welcomed by a brutal punch to his cheek that sent him crashing and rolling across the ground.
Ivan rose slowly, pressing his hand to his cheek where the blow had landed, a thin stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and running down the side of his face.
He spat the blood forcefully onto the ground and muttered with quiet determination, "Thanks for the punch... it reminded me I'm not here to play. This is a test, and the goal isn't just to kill you, it's to beat the clock too."
He glanced at the timer on his wrist—22 minutes remaining.
He pressed off the ground with his feet and leapt toward the nearest tree, darting swiftly from branch to branch like a shadow slipping through the trees.
Behind him, the criminal shouted with fury, "I won't let you run! No one leaves my painting unfinished! We must complete what we started!" and took off after him.
Ivan moved fast, his heart pounding with rapid intensity.
Behind him, the criminal chased like a rabid beast, hurling knives one after another. They pierced the air, coming dangerously close to Ivan's body, but he dodged with remarkable agility—bending, flipping, twisting like a ghost.
Ivan's eyes kept scanning the horizon until he spotted a massive tree with a trunk as wide as a stone wall.
A bold idea struck him. it was his chance to turn the battle in his favor.
"This is my chance…" he whispered to himself, narrowing his eyes in sharp focus.
Instead of running away from danger, he charged straight toward the tree, twisting and weaving his way forward, dodging the knives still raining down behind him.
He leapt toward the thick tree trunk, planting his feet on it at the exact moment the criminal thought he was fleeing—then launched his body backward with explosive force, like a steel spring or a ball rebounding off a solid wall.
The sudden reversal confused the criminal, who only realized what happened when Ivan flew past him like lightning—his chain already unfurling and wrapping around the man's body in a single fluid motion.
The criminal was suddenly yanked by Ivan's counter movement, dragged with such unexpected force that his feet lost contact with the branches and his balance collapsed completely.
Ivan landed on his feet, anchoring his weight to the ground, gripping the chain tightly, his teeth clenched, the muscles in his arms taut, and his eyes burning with unwavering focus.
He began swinging the chain with all the strength he had, turning the criminal's thin body into a rag doll smashing into tree trunks in a wide arc. Each impact came with a muffled thud, splinters flying, branches trembling.
Trees began to crack under the force of the collisions—leaves scattered, bark peeled away, and the criminal's screams morphed into inarticulate groans. It all ended with one final heave, hurling the body to the ground where it crumpled like a sack of meat amid the rising dust.
Ivan took a deep breath, each inhale and exhale filling his body with renewed energy. He moved slightly, wiping the sweat—now mixed with dust—from his forehead.
Those mixed droplets were like battle marks from the fierce clash he'd just endured. Then he spoke in a calm but firm voice, "I hope this is the end of it.
Either stay alive on this ground or... don't make me finish you off myself. In your condition, you won't last more than a few more hours."
The criminal tried to rise, trembling with pain, blood oozing slowly from a wound on his head and another in his abdomen pierced by sharp debris. He barely managed to stand, but his deranged grin hadn't faded—though now weaker, shaded with pain.
"It's not over yet, boy. Rule number one in a fight, never leave your enemy alive and walk away. You never know when the tables might turn." Then, raising his voice in a surge of fury, his face burning red, he shouted, "Come on! Finish what you started!"
Ivan didn't hesitate. He charged forward with full force, while the criminal smiled, as if he knew his end was near. But Ivan ignored the smile, vaulted off a tree trunk behind him, wrapped his metal chain tightly around it, then rebounded like a steel spring toward the criminal.
He wrapped the chain tightly around the man's neck, pulling hard without looking back, while the criminal's soul struggled to escape his body and the choking sounds grew louder in Ivan's ears.
Ivan's face remained stone cold, void of sympathy, like death itself couldn't shake him.
He stopped only when the strangled sounds ceased. Slowly, he turned and uncoiled the chain from around the man's neck. The corpse collapsed to the ground like a torn puppet. Ivan's right hand trembled slightly, and a strange shiver traveled down his spine as his eyes remained locked on the still body in front of him.
"So this is what it feels like... taking a life. Doesn't feel good at all," he muttered under his breath, speaking to someone who could no longer hear. "How could you enjoy slaughtering all those people?" he added, clenching his fist.
He looked at the timer embedded in his wristband: 20:40. Time was still bleeding away. He sighed sharply and wiped his face with his dirt-stained sleeve. "Ten minutes gone... and I haven't even reached the first checkpoint."
he tightened the chain once more and took off running.