Sometimes I wonder… why are humans so stubborn?Why do they keep struggling to live, even when God Himself seems to want this species gone?
Clang… clang… clang…The sound of chains clashing against iron echoed through the room. Dark, cramped, the damp stench stinging my nose. Two flickering neon lamps buzzed above my head, their dim light barely illuminating the cell no bigger than twenty square meters.
"Hey—are you listening to me?"The sarcastic voice came from the man staring at me sharply. His hair was black streaked with gray, his brown eyes framed by sharp lines on his cheek. His face looked like that of a man in his early twenties, though the scars etched across it made him appear older. He wore an orange shirt and long pants. His hands and feet were bound with shackles bolted to the wall.
"Hey, when someone talks to you, you should respond! Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?"He had been ranting like this since I was thrown into this cell—three whole days of his endless chatter.
Since I gave no answer, the man sighed heavily. Hhh… He shifted into a more comfortable position. His ragged breath filled the small space.
"Fifty years ago, the world collapsed," he said quietly. "A plague that turned humans into monsters wiped out nearly all civilization. What remained were a handful now called the Immunis. 'The new humans'—immune to the virus, stronger bodies, some even gifted with abilities once impossible for ordinary men."
He chuckled bitterly, his laugh bouncing off the concrete walls.
"You know what they used to say?" his voice dropped to a whisper. "When God gives you a heavy trial, He also gives you the strength to endure it."
Perhaps there was some truth to it. For thirty-one years after the outbreak, mankind managed to adapt. Cells regenerated, bodies grew immune, physical limits were surpassed. Some even awakened powers that defied logic. Back then, many called it a blessing.
His expression twisted into rage, his tone flaring."A blessing? What blessing? To me, it's a curse. I swear a hundred percent: God wants us wiped out. He gives us disaster, then pretends to hand us a gift—pretends to help. But that's His plan: to exterminate humanity without staining His own name!"
Tap… tap… tap…Heavy footsteps echoed from behind the steel door, mixing with the man's unending rants. It sounded like two people approaching.
"Humans…" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "The weakest yet most complicated creatures. Full of colliding emotions, egos hiding in every heart. Give them power… and watch. They change. They believe themselves higher, more deserving to rule. That's mankind—."
He stared directly into my eyes, his gaze widening. "You know it, don't you? Of course you know it…"
Then his laughter exploded."Yes. God gave that power. Not to save humanity, but to make them kill each other. He must be sitting on His throne, watching the bloodshed He designed Himself. Delighting in mankind destroying one another until extinction. He gave them power so humanity would erase itself."
Tap… tap… tap…The footsteps stopped right at the steel door, just as his laughter rang.
Beep… beep… beep.Craakk… craaakk…The steel door slowly rose, groaning loudly. Light from the corridor spilled in, cutting through the dim cell.
Two men appeared in the doorway. Both wore black suits, white shirts, ties, and gleaming shoes—neat as office workers. Their frames were broad, postures straight like trained soldiers. Both looked to be in their early thirties. The difference: the man on the left had a long scar across his chin. Their black hair was neatly slicked to the side.
The scarred man glanced left and right before fixing his cold, mocking eyes on me."Well, well… so you're the reason I had to leave my lunch?" His voice was deep, grating. "I thought you were just another prisoner. Turns out… the most famous bastard of the week. The scum who ate his own lover."
His smile twisted, filled with disgust. He gave a curt order."Unchain him."
His partner stepped forward, releasing the shackles clamped to the wall. The metallic clinks echoed until finally my wrists were freed.
The scarred man simply stood at the doorway, staring sharply as I stepped out. With a flick of his arm, he shut the steel door.
Craakk… duuugh!The metal slammed shut. The air felt heavier.
Before it sealed completely, the talkative prisoner grinned faintly."Heh… let's see what you choose."
Duuugh!The door locked. Without waiting, the two men shoved me forward. I walked down a long corridor, neon lights flickering above, their dim glow painting the plain walls. Chains rattled with each step.
At the end stood an old elevator. Rust-brown, full of holes in its walls. From within, thick chains stretched upward. The man pressed a button. A panel showed numbers from 1 to 1000, but he only pressed 1. I didn't even know what floor we were on.
Craakk… craakk…The elevator groaned upward, trembling as rusty chains screeched. Ten minutes of grinding metal.
Ting.The doors slid open.
Fresh air mixed with dust struck my face. Blinding light spilled in, along with the roar of thousands.
The first sight before me: a colossal coliseum. Like a football stadium, packed with towering stands wrapping all around. Thousands of spectators filled every seat, some screaming, some hurling objects into the pit. The high walls of the arena were plastered with graffiti, anarchic scrawls and provocative slogans. Dust and smoke rose, choking the chaos.
At the center stood a massive man. His body covered in tattoos, hair spiked. Both his arms encased in thick metal sleeves painted with a green skull. Blood dripped from his body as corpses littered the ground around him.
He was surrounded—by a swarm of the undead.
"OOOOHHHHHH! A DEVASTATING STRIKE FROM IRON FIST!!" a commentator's voice boomed over loudspeakers. The crowd erupted. A zombie's head exploded, blood spraying, and the spectators roared even louder.
"Keep moving." The scarred man shoved me again.
We followed a narrow walkway circling above, separated from the spectators' stands—higher, reserved for the privileged. From here, I could see it all: the round arena below, the bloodstained dirt, the piles of corpses.
We walked until we reached a steel door, clean and untouched by graffiti. Two guards flanked it. They nodded and opened the way.
Once it shut behind us, the roar of the crowd vanished. Only silence remained as we descended a dim hallway for several minutes, until a blinding white light glared from ahead.
Conversations ceased as I entered. The chamber was vast, rectangular, with a towering ceiling. All eyes turned to me.
At the far end, on the highest seat, sat a middle-aged judge. His black hair streaked with gray, a long maroon robe draped over his frame.
I was forced to stand in the empty center. The judge opened a file, then stared straight at me.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
"Max Tharions." His voice was deep, echoing. "By the National Post-Reconstruction Criminal Code, you are charged with three principal crimes."
He lowered his eyes briefly, then read aloud:"First, you are found guilty of slaughtering forty-three government officers—including police, soldiers, and civil staff—during the Western Zone riot.Second, you are found guilty of the massacre of approximately one thousand beggars, outcasts, and residents of the Dead District.Third, there is testimony from a surviving witness, Ria Malvens, who claims you devoured her companion, a woman named April, twenty-five years old—while she was still alive."
The words detonated the silence. Whispers burst across the chamber.
"Eating a human… alive?""Monster."
The murmurs spread like poison.
Tok!"Silence!" the judge barked. "This trial requires no opinions. Only judgment."
His eyes locked on me—cold, unwavering."By Articles 17, 24, and 31 of the National Criminal Code, this court finds you guilty. Accordingly, you are sentenced to death."
The words slammed into the air, smothering all whispers.
The judge leaned back, speaking flatly:"As per law for all Class-A convicts sentenced to death, you are given three choices."
He raised three thin fingers."First, execution before the public. Carried out seven days from this ruling.Second, you may rot in prison until your body yields to time.Third…" his voice lowered, drawing every ear, "you may fight for your freedom. By entering the Arena."
His gaze pierced into me."Fight against abnormals, beasts, and fellow convicts. Battles of life and death, before thousands of eyes. Win, and you walk free. Lose… and your body becomes entertainment."
The chamber erupted again, whispers half in mockery, half in dread.
Tok! Tok! Tok!"Max Tharions. The choice is yours. You have one night to decide."
All eyes bore into me. I stood unmoving, breath heavy, eyes cast blankly downward. Twenty-four years old—too young for a sentence so final.
In my head, bitter words echoed.The Arena… that cursed place.
A colossal stadium, built atop the ruins of the old world. Since mankind had adapted immunity to the undead virus, zombies were no longer threats—they were entertainment. The new government exploited it, creating a gladiatorial spectacle: Class-A convicts thrown into the Arena, forced to fight to the death against hordes of the undead, failed experiments, even one another. All for one purpose: the people's amusement, and a warning for anyone who dared rebel.
I clenched my fists, chains rattling faintly.So this… is the end? The thought was hollow. My eyes were empty. No rage, no fear—only a void that lingered within.