Awwwhhhh…
The sound of screaming echoed through the shattered streets of New York City.
In the center of a ruined playground, a battered armored box sat motionless. Inside it, mud-streaked and bruised, Jack leaned against the metal wall, his white shirt soaked in dirt and sweat. Little Coco, the puppy, licked the scratches on his leg, trying to cheer him up.
Jack flinched and raised his voice, frustrated.
"Why did you drop him?! That could've been way worse!"
Across from him, Rose sat trembling, her hands soaked in blood—but not her own. Her tear-filled eyes stared at nothing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Jack sighed and softened, his tone shifting.
"It's okay," he said quietly, trying to calm them both. He reached down and glared at Coco. "Bad dog."
Coco whimpered and laid flat on the floor of the box, ears down.
"Don't pout. This was your fault," Jack muttered, though his anger was more from fear than blame.
BAM.
A bloody hand smacked the peep hole on the wall.
"Let me in!" a man's voice cried from outside. "Please! Open up!"
Jack crawled over to the peephole and peered through. The man outside was bruised, covered in cuts and mud. Blood soaked his stomach where a deep gash stretched across his body. His hand gripped a sword.
"I saved your dog! I saved you from those monsters!" he yelled, voice breaking. "And now… now I'm dying out here because of you!"
Jack's chest tightened. "I'm sorry," he said, filled with sorrow. "I can't open it."
The man's face twisted in rage. "Don't give me that! You lied! You told us—told me—to pick the sword!"
"No, I didn't," Jack snapped, anger rising. "I told you someone had to pick the opposite. If everyone picked the same thing, we'd all die. We—" he pointed at Rose "—we were going to pick the sword. You insisted on it. I picked the box so at least one group would survive!"
The man clutched his stomach tighter, swaying. His voice cracked. "My group… they're all gone."
He opened his mouth to say more, but suddenly—
SHHKK!
A Holy Sword pierced straight through his chest from behind.
He gasped once and collapsed.
Behind him stood one of the glowing Holy Knights, face calm, armor crackling with divine energy. It stepped up to the peep hole and stabbed at it—but the sword only scraped off. The barrier held.
"Interesting," the Knight said, voice deep and even. Its eyes locked onto Rose. She froze.
"Don't fret," the Knight said to her, gaze oddly gentle. "Their deaths are not your fault. They chose wrong. That's all."
Jack stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "How do you know about the selection?"
"At first, I didn't," the Knight said casually. "We were born today. I had no memories… no thoughts. Only the instinct to cleanse."
He turned his head slightly.
"Then I met a man."
Jack's heart skipped.
"I couldn't kill him. My body wouldn't let me. He wasn't like the rest. I believe… he made me."
Jack's eyes widened. "What did he look like?"
The Knight grinned.
"No, no. That would ruin the game. Or should I say…" He paused, smiling. "…gift."
With that, the Knight turned and walked off, stepping over the body, its blade dripping, eyes scanning for new targets.
Jack slowly sat back down, staring at the map screen hovering beside him.
The golden dot—the King—was moving now. Slowly. Walking.
"He's out there," Jack muttered. "Smiling while these things kill everyone."
He clenched his fist. "I'm going to stop him."
He looked at the corner of the map, eyes locked on the countdown:
King's Game: 7:01:00
Dice Event: 1:00
Event Duration: 1:00
Only one minute left… before the next horror began.