James materialized in the cube-shaped room, his boots hitting the smooth floor with a thud. The familiar walls blank with an eerie, lingering coldness. His eyes swept the space, taking in the scattered figures rising from their own returns, faces etched with the weight of whatever trials they'd endured. The girl with curly dark hair, Elara, straightened near the far wall, her assassin's grace intact despite the exhaustion in her posture. The short buzzcut guy who'd called himself Vanguard stretched his shoulders, while the nervous girl with glasses clutched a small vial that glowed faintly blue.
His gaze found Thorne leaning against the opposite wall, that predatory smirk still carved into his scarred face, cold eyes scanning the room like he was sizing up prey. The Summoner's confident stance hadn't changed, but there was something sharper about him now, like the trials had honed his edge. James's stomach tightened.
Not the familiar face I was hoping to see.
Astor's absence pressed against him like a physical weight, nowhere to be found among the survivors.
The other participants filled out the space: the broad-shouldered Berserker who'd been silenced by the Overseer before, the Illusionist with her sharp eyes, the Elementalist whose hands still sparked faintly with residual energy, the Beast Master with claw marks fresh on his arms, and the pale Enigma whose expression remained unreadable. All ten original participants had returned, but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut.
"So," the Berserker said, his voice rough, "we all made it back. Barely."
The Beast Master winced, favoring his left side. "Speak for yourself. That trial nearly killed me three times over."
"The question is," Thorne interrupted, his scarred face twisting into that familiar smirk, "who performed well enough to matter?"
Before anyone could answer, static crackled through the air. The Overseer shimmered into existence at the room's center, that same formless clown radiating its sly, conniving smile. It floated above them, arms spread wide like it was welcoming old friends to a twisted family reunion.
"Well, well, well," it purred, voice dripping with amusement. "Look what the Domain dragged back. My little survivors, battered but breathing. How delightfully predictable." Its gaze swept the room, lingering on each participant with obvious relish. "Time for the fun part. The results! Oh, how I do love a good reveal."
The air thickened, anticipation hanging like smoke. James's fists clenched at his sides, his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd earned an A- in the Garden of Afflictions, but was that enough? The others looked equally tense, their eyes locked on the floating clown.
A system message flared to life in front of each participant, blue text stark and clinical:
[Trial Leaderboard]
[1st Place]: Elara (Assassin) - Grade A
[2nd Place (Tie)]: Thorne (Summoner) - Grade A-
[2nd Place (Tie)]: James (Healer) - Grade A-
[4th Place]: Iris (Alchemist) - Grade B+
[5th Place] ...
The Overseer clapped its hands, the sound sharp and mocking. "There we have it! Our winners' circle, chosen by merit and delicious violence." It gestured toward Elara with theatrical flair. "Miss Assassin takes the crown with her lovely A rating. Shadow work, precision kills, and such artistic brutality. Bravo!"
Elara's face remained stoic, but James caught the slight tilt of her chin, annoyance flickering in her dark eyes.
"Second place," the clown's voice turned sing-song, "we have a delicious tie. Both sporting A- ratings, because apparently the Domain enjoys its little coincidences." Its gaze flicked between James and Thorne, that mocking smile never wavering. "Our dear Summoner, Thorne, who bound his spirits with such brutal efficiency. And our little Healer, James, who danced with death and saved just enough lives to matter."
James's pulse spiked. Tied with Thorne. The irony tasted bitter, but relief flooded through him. A- was enough. He'd made the top four.
"And rounding out our winners' circle," the Overseer continued, floating closer to Iris, "little Iris, our Alchemist, with a B+. Potions under pressure, bombing quite a number of people. Quite the explosive performance, really."
The remaining six participants shifted uncomfortably, realizing their fate. The Berserker's face darkened, while the Illusionist's sharp eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Now, now," the Overseer said, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "don't look so glum, my bottom-feeders. The Domain has such a delightful surprise for you."
The Elementalist stepped forward, fists clenched. "What's that supposed to mean? We completed the trials. We survived."
"Oh, you survived," the Overseer giggled, its form flickering with cruel delight. "But survival and success are two very different things in the Domain." Its smile widened impossibly. "You see, those top four performers get to rescue their precious allies. But the Domain loves its balance. Four souls in..."
The air grew heavy, oppressive, as the Overseer's presence intensified.
"Four souls out."
The bottom four participants began to protest simultaneously. "That's not fair!" the Beast Master shouted. "We weren't tol—" the Illusionist started. "You can't ju—" the Enigma began.
The Overseer's eyes flashed, and suddenly their voices cut off mid-sentence. Not silenced. Gone. James watched in horror as their mouths simply fell away, dropping to the floor with wet thuds. Where lips and teeth had been, there was nothing but smooth skin, as if their mouths had never existed.
The four participants clawed at their faces in panic, their muffled screams trapped behind sealed flesh. The Overseer laughed, a sound like breaking glass.
"Didn't I mention? The Domain doesn't appreciate interruptions."
What happened next would haunt James for the rest of his time in the Domain. The four participants didn't just die. They melted. Their bodies liquefied from the inside out, skin bubbling and running like wax, bones dissolving, until nothing remained but four pools of crimson spreading across the wet floor.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Thorne's predatory smirk had vanished, replaced by something approaching shock. Elara took an involuntary step backward, her assassin's composure cracking. Iris pressed her hand to her mouth, the vial in her other hand trembling.
The Overseer floated serenely above the spreading pools of blood, its smile returning to that familiar, mocking curve. "Four souls for four souls," it said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "The Domain's accounting is always precise."
The air shimmered, and four new figures materialized where the blood pools had been. James's heart leaped as he spotted blonde hair and familiar blue eyes. Astor stepped forward, looking alert and unharmed, his clothes intact, no sign of trauma or confusion. Their gazes met across the room, and James felt the knot in his chest loosen.
The other three rescued allies appeared equally whole: a tall woman with silver hair stood near Elara, her bearing regal despite the circumstances. A stocky man with a war hammer materialized next to Thorne, nodding with grim familiarity. The third, a young man with intricate tattoos covering his arms, appeared beside Iris, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"There we have it," the Overseer announced, floating in a lazy circle above them. "Fresh blood to replace the spilled blood. The Domain's books are balanced, and we can move forward with our delightful game."
James wanted to run to Astor, to confirm he was real and safe, but the Overseer's presence held everyone frozen.
"Now then," the clown continued, its voice returning to that theatrical tone, "I know you're all dying to have your little reunions. To play catch-up and pretend this is anything but a prelude to greater horrors." A system timer materialized in everyone's vision:
[Time until Maze 1 Challenge] : 24:00:00 hours
"Twenty-four hours," the Overseer said, confirming what they could all see. "One full rotation to rest, recover, and contemplate your mortality. Maze 1 awaits, children, and it has such interesting ways of testing more than just your ability to kill things." Its form began to flicker, preparing for departure. "Fair warning. the next trial isn't about what you can destroy. It's about what you're willing to sacrifice for victory."
Before anyone could respond, the Overseer snapped its fingers. Reality twisted, and James felt the familiar lurch of teleportation seizing him. The cube-shaped room vanished, but not before he heard the Overseer's final words, spoken with obvious relish:
"This batch is fun."