The circle waited. Stone cold beneath my feet, air thick with torches and tension. Every mask fixed on me, every shadow a calculated threat.
Click… drip… scrape…
I swallowed. "Well, congratulations to me. First contestant of the night. No pressure, right?"
The shopkeeper's hand rose, and a low hum started from the crowd. Not sound exactly more like the heartbeat of the chamber itself. The first masked figure stepped forward, gesturing toward a set of obstacles laid in crude, deliberate paths. Some traps were obvious; others hid in the shadows.
Splash… rustle… thump…
"Step lively," muttered the figure. Voice mechanical, emotionless, as if drilled into repetition.
I stepped onto the first path: uneven slabs of stone, slick with damp, puddles reflecting torchlight like molten mirrors. Every step could tip a balance, set off an unseen chain.
Click… drip… scrape…
Halfway across, a pipe rattled overhead. I froze. Footsteps echoed in sync with mine or were they mine echoing theirs? The air seemed alive, judging. I muttered under my breath, sarcasm trying to cling: "Great. This is exactly how I pictured a casual Friday evening."
A sudden push from behind. Instinct kicked in I dove sideways, scraping knees, barely avoiding a hidden pit. Heart hammering. Breath ragged.
Splash… tap… hum…
A figure whispered from the shadows: "Chosen."
I clenched my fists, teeth grinding. "Yeah, chosen to nearly die. Fantastic title."
The trial continued a gauntlet of physical hazards, coded symbols to interpret, paths to navigate. Some masked watchers moved, testing reflexes, patience, and perception. Every step a question, every pause a judgment.
Rustle… thump… click…
I survived not by skill, but by sheer luck and stubborn will. A misstep here, a leap there, improvisation in moments where instinct outpaced thought. The crowd murmured occasionally whispers like wind through stone: "He's… different."
Halfway through, a torch fell, nearly taking me with it. I rolled, muttering bitterly: "Yeah, just a casual Tuesday in a secret subterranean club. Love it."
The final path opened to a raised platform. I stumbled onto it, soaked, bleeding in small cuts, heart hammering. Masks leaned forward; the shopkeeper observed quietly, inscrutable.
Click… drip… hum…
A pause. Silence stretched, then one voice, low, clipped: "He survives."
I sank to one knee, gasping, muttering: "Survives. Sure. That's one way to sugarcoat it. Can I get a medal, too?"
Splash… tap… scrape…
I looked up. The chamber seemed larger now, the shadows deeper, the Syndicate's reach clearer. They weren't just hiding in corners they were everywhere, everything. And I had survived their first test.
Not victorious. Not safe. Just… still breathing.
Click… drip… hum…
I straightened, teeth clenched, mind already spinning. One thing was clear: the gauntlet wasn't done, and neither was the Syndicate.
And I, bloody, exhausted, muttering under my breath, knew the game had just escalated.
"Fine," I whispered, sarcasm sharper than ever. "Let's see what other horrors you've got in store."