Chapter One: Choosing Day
Choosing Day was the kind of day people feared quietly. In the Higher Heights district, fear was never shouted or protested because that was how you died faster. The city rose from the buried ruins of what had once been Germany, steel and glass stacked on old bones, history sealed beneath concrete. Everyone knew the rules even if no one ever spoke them. One mistake and you were gone, either dead, dragged into the Eternal Games, or processed as sustenance for the Upper Tiers. There were worse ways to disappear, and everyone knew which ones those were.
Duke stood among them, breathing the recycled air, feeling the weight of a world he did not belong to. He remembered his death clearly, painfully so, because it had happened only yesterday. One moment he was alive, precise, untouchable, and the next he was bleeding out on cold pavement with a hole torn through his chest. He remembered staring upward, confused more than afraid, wondering how someone like him could be caught so easily.
He had been an assassin, and not a sloppy one. He had trained his body and mind into weapons, mastering distance, timing, patience, and silence. He had ended lives cleanly and vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions. That was why the voice he heard as he died stayed with him. "Well, what do you know," it had said, amused and calm. "Turns out the all powerful assassin was not immortal after all."
Death should have been the end, but it was not. Light tore through him instead, violent and blinding, dragging him back into awareness. Duke reacted before thought, muscles snapping into motion as he flipped upright, only to trip and crash into another body sprawled across the ground. He hissed under his breath, steadying himself as the smell of grass and panic filled his lungs.
"What the hell is this place," someone nearby cried, shielding their eyes. Others groaned, cursed, or sobbed as they tried to adjust to the overwhelming brightness. Duke ignored them and took in his surroundings with trained focus. A massive grassy field stretched endlessly in every direction, too perfect to be real, enclosed by towering walls that curved inward like the inside of a colossal bowl. There were hundreds of people scattered across it, confused and frightened, moving without direction.
His body felt wrong. Smaller. Lighter. Less worn. Duke looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers, felt the unfamiliar responsiveness of youth. Eighteen years old, maybe less. He exhaled slowly, then let out a quiet laugh. "Good," he muttered. A younger body meant room to adapt, and adaptation had always been his greatest strength.
He began piecing it together quickly. The scale of the arena, the controlled environment, the absence of exits, it all pointed to one thing. A game. Not for entertainment, but for efficiency. A place designed to force conflict, to strip people down to instincts and desperation. He had seen this kind of design before, just never on this scale.
The confirmation came without ceremony. A cold, mechanical voice echoed across the field, amplified and emotionless. "Attention, players. Please stand and proceed to the red line for commencement. You have five minutes." A faint red glow ignited in the grass several meters ahead, forming a long boundary that pulsed softly.
Panic erupted immediately. People scrambled to their feet, dragging children along, shouting names, pushing past one another. Duke moved with them, calm and deliberate, keeping his balance, watching everything. As he reached the line, his eyes narrowed. There were children here. A woman clutched a boy no older than five, whispering frantically into his hair. Another child stood alone, frozen, staring at nothing.
"This is sick," someone whispered behind him. "They would not put kids in something like this." Duke did not respond. He had already learned that the world did not care what people thought it would or would not do.
The voice returned, louder now, filling every corner of the arena. "Welcome to the Eternal Games. This is a long running survival series. Your objective is to survive each round. The first round will last seventy two hours. Weapons, supplies, and resources have been scattered across the field. Arena boundaries will shrink over time. There is no rescue. There is no surrender. Fallen players will be reclaimed. The Games will continue until one player remains."
The crowd fractured under the weight of it. Cries broke out. Some people fell to their knees. Others stared ahead in stunned silence. Duke remained still, eyes locked on the distant glints of metal scattered across the grass. Crates, most likely. Bait designed to draw blood early.
Then something pressed into his mind, sharp and undeniable. It was not a voice, but it carried intent all the same. Words burned themselves into his thoughts with absolute clarity.
[Kill without mercy]
[Reach the final tier]
Duke felt his pulse quicken, not with fear, but with recognition. "So that is how it is," he thought. No explanations. No promises. Just an order. His lips curled slightly as old instincts stirred awake, stretching after a long sleep. This body might be weaker for now, but the mind behind it was lethal.
A countdown began to echo across the arena. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. A horn blasted through the air, deep and resonant, sending birds scattering from the artificial sky. Duke stepped forward as chaos exploded around him, not running blindly like the others, but choosing his direction with care. The Eternal Games had begun, and he had no intention of dying quietly this time.