I was dreaming again.
I was back in school, standing in the hallway, my back pressed against the lockers. Their voices cut through me before their hands did-laughter, whispers, a shove that wasn't enough to get punished, just enough to remind me I had no place there.
"Say something," one of them sneered.
I couldn't. My throat felt locked, my body heavy, like I was moving through mud. Around us, girls stood watching. Some laughed, some looked away, some stared and did nothing. No one stepped in.
I felt small. Exposed. Powerless.
The laughter grew louder, echoing, crushing-
The alarm clock exploded into sound.
I jolted upright, gasping. My room was dark, familiar. My hands shook. Just a nightmare. Another one. I ran a hand through my hair and forced my heart to calm.
"Leo! Get downstairs!" my sister shouted. "Breakfast is ready!"
Her voice grounded me.
I got out of bed, changed into my school uniform, and went downstairs. The smell of food filled the kitchen. My sister was already there, buzzing with energy she couldn't hide.
My mother was sitting at the table. That alone made me pause. She was sick. Usually, she stayed in bed, resting. Today, she was sitting up, smiling at us, tired but warm.
It was a special day. My sister had been accepted into a prestigious school. Today was her first day. That was why my mother had pushed herself to sit with us, to eat together like this mattered-because it did.
She reached out and squeezed my sister's hand. "You'll do great."
Then she looked at me. "Good luck to you too, Leo."
"I'll cook roast beef tonight," she added softly. "To celebrate."
"You shouldn't bother," I said. "You're sick."
She smiled anyway.
School passed like it always did. In math class, I stared out the window. Another class was outside doing P.E., running laps on the field. Their shouts drifted faintly through the glass. My life felt small. Boring. I hated it.
Then the light came.
It wasn't gradual. It was violent - white, overwhelming, swallowing everything. The walls dissolved. Desks vanished. The floor dropped out from under me.
I felt weightless. My stomach twisted. Around me, other students screamed. Some clutched each other. Some shouted at thin air, frozen in disbelief. A few stumbled and fell to the floor before vanishing. The panic was immediate and raw; it didn't single me out-it was chaos, indiscriminate.
I saw my teacher, mouth moving, no sound coming out, eyes wide with shock. Others were laughing nervously, some crying, some just staring in paralyzed awe. It felt unreal.
We were transported with pure force. One second we were in our classroom, the next, the air itself was gone, replaced by damp stone and cold shadows.
I landed on my hands and knees. Pain shot through my arms and back. Slowly, I raised my head. Around me, a hundred others were scattered across the stone floor. Some were groaning, some had jumped to their feet instantly. Some were crying, some cursing, others moving instinctively as if they had trained for this all their lives.
I stood on cold stone. A hundred of us had been teleported into a dungeon. Some of my classmates were there too, scattered around me, shouting in panic. Faces I recognized, faces that had never liked me. I was quiet, boring to them. Too standard. They ignored me most of the time, but sometimes-just enough-there were small, indirect acts of hostility. Side comments. Exclusion. Ways to crush someone without dirtying their own hands.
Then a voice, mechanical yet terrifyingly calm, filled the chamber. Cold. Absolute.
"You have to complete the dungeon to survive. There is a time limit. If you fail, the Reaper will come and slaughter everyone."
The panic grew louder. Some screamed, some laughed, some fell into silence, staring at the walls. Others began whispering to each other, forming tiny groups, trying to organize. A few, older or more experienced, started moving deeper into the shadows, scanning, testing the walls and corners, calculating where to go first.
I stayed where I was, trying to understand. Every glance, every scream, every small, instinctive action by the others painted the same truth: this was life or death. Not everyone would survive. And already, cracks were forming in the fragile bonds of the groups.
Some panicked, running blindly toward the corridor ahead. Some laughed, trying to mask terror. But those who were careful, the smart and charismatic, immediately moved deeper into the dungeon. They didn't wait. They didn't hesitate. They knew there was no time to waste.
I took a deep breath, testing my own courage. My muscles ached from the landing, my chest burned with adrenaline. I had no allies but I knew instinctively: to survive, I had to follow them.
And so I moved, watching the monsters that slithered and growled in the corners, learning how this dungeon reacted to life and sound. Step by step, we pressed forward.
Monsters bled into the corridors. People began to awaken minor skills - tiny flares of something new and dangerous. For a while it felt like it might work. There were deaths; unavoidable ones, the kind that cut the group but didn't break the momentum. Then the room before the boss chamber turned the whole thing into a choice.
"One sacrifice to open the door," the order said. People complained - this was immoral - but deep down they knew the Reaper was coming. Decisions had to be made, quickly.
They decided. They turned on me.
I wasn't the strongest. I'd been disliked, an easy target they'd picked on. They swarmed. I tried to defend myself. I couldn't keep up. They pinned me, kicked, shouted; one of them slashed my throat, and my head came off. Everything around me went black.
I saw my head on the ground and my body lying there while they kicked my corpse, laughing in a mixture of stress and hysteria. I wanted to scream for my family, for my sister - I imagined them waiting, asking where I'd have gone. More than that, I couldn't forgive them for ganging up on me for being weak, for being an easy prey. I vowed they would never pass through that door. IF ONLY I COULD CRUSH THEM.
Then the system spoke again, but differently. Text appeared in my skull like a verdict:
Unique event triggered "the unlucky one: hate series"
"You have died, however you can regain your stolen life if you kill every candidate in this room. Your stats have been exponentially increased to match up the event. Good luck."
I was speechless. And then, somewhere under the shock, a grin split me - the insane, impossible grin of someone who'd found a second chance.
I started killing them.
One by one. Their faces when they realized the hand that had been weak was now monstrous - that look of despair as I smashed them down - it burned into me. I killed everyone in that room. When it was done, another message came:
"Congratulations on completing the event. Your life has been replenished, your stats have been reversed to normal."
I was alive. I shouted it to myself like a prayer: I AM ALIVE. For once, I had beaten the odds. But my victory was hollow in a way I couldn't ignore. I was alone. The last room remained , the boss room - and I was almost dead. Going in now would be suicide. I gave myself permission to rest.
I lay down, my eyes closing.
A screech woke me. It echoed from the start of the dungeon and everything in me leapt to attention. The Reaper. I could hear it moving with impossible speed. If it reached me I would die.
I forced myself up and pushed open the giant door. Mossy pillars filled the boss chamber. In the center sat a giant rock covered in a thin carpet of grass. It looked wrong in a way that screamed trap; I knew it wasn't a statue - it was a golem. The Reaper's silhouette loomed at the back of the room, forbidding and obscene.
Adrenaline steered me. I ran at the golem; it woke and began charging a downward strike. I slid under it. Just as I made the move, the Reaper swung, and its scythe struck the golem in one brutal blow. The creature shattered.
Something rolled from the broken golem - an item. I risked everything to reach it, dashing between pillars as the Reaper sent strikes that smashed stone into dust. It was a crown made of rock: Golem legacy. I slapped it on my head and dodged the Reaper's scythe; the blade nicked my left cheek, the creature was fast.
When its scythe came for my eye, the crown reacted: a boulder of rock erupted and slammed into my face, shielding me. The impact hurled me backward; the boulder exploded into fragments that crawled like insects and reformed into tiny golems, piecing armor around me.
I tried to strike the Reaper. Rock wrapped my fist, but the scythe phased through like mist. For a while the outcome was the same: I ran when it came, hid when it swung, the crown's guardians repairing and re-forming, but never enough. Then a thought sparked: when did its hits feel solid? When they landed and the rock held, it was tangible. Maybe-maybe-the moment it struck, it became vulnerable.
The next time it charged, I let it hit me. Rock curled like armor, then turned to dust. The window closed as quickly as it opened, but for that single second of tangibility I struck. My blow connected. I launched it against the wall; pillars cracked and collapsed onto it. It faded out.
A portal bloomed where it fell. I could barely walk, each step sending shocks of pain through my body, but it was the only chance. I dragged myself through it.
White light. A vast white room. I stumbled forward a few steps, then fell to my knees, groaning from my injuries and exhaustion. Portals lined the walls. People materialized in groups: tens, twenties, fives, threes - and lastly, one: me. Everyone had been waiting for the time limit for the last team to clear their dungeon. A sleek humanoid figure moved forward; it was the moderator. Intimidating. Void of warmth.
"You finally made it, candidate," it said. "We were all waiting for you. You had a bad time with the Reaper. Now I can finally proceed to the next event."
A girl's voice broke the silence. "Moderator, can I please heal the injured one?"
The moderator inclined its head. "You do know he is a potential enemy of yours in the next event?"
She nodded, but moved forward anyway. She reached for my hands to heal me. I pushed her away with my left arm.
"Go away. I don't want anyone near me!" I said, feral and raw with pain.
The moderator's mouth seemed to curve into a knowing line. "Thought so. Candidate Mirella, leave him."
Another girl stepped up, more fierce. "What are you doing? She tried to help you and you push her away - are you stupid? - "I don't need anyone's help, get away from me," I snapped, my eyes animal-bright.
They retreated into their groups. They whispered and glanced at me. I didn't care. I had been betrayed. I would not be hurt again.