In a cold basement, a man knelt on the floor, shaking.
His face was swollen and broken, blood and tears mixing as they dripped onto the concrete. The dim light barely reached him, but he didn't need to see clearly to understand where he was.
He began begging the moment he saw the man seated in front of him.
"I'll do whatever you say! Please, sir… anything!"
"I'll become your loyal dog. I'll merge my gang with yours. Please…"
His voice cracked, desperation spilling out with every word.
A fat man in a tailored suit sat in a high-backed chair across from him, a cigar burning lazily between his fingers. Smoke curled through the air, casting shifting shadows across his face.
He listened without reacting.
Then he slowly reached inside his coat and drew out a heavy revolver.
"The problem is," he said flatly, "you still don't understand one thing."
The gun tilted.
"You shouldn't be greedy for my chair."
Bang.
He didn't shoot the man on the floor.
He shot the one making him kneel.
At thirty-two, Alex had turned a chaotic street gang into a professional syndicate. He had built structure where there was none, loyalty where there was fear, order where there was bloodshed.
He was respected.
The rising star everyone expected to take the underboss seat.
The bullet tore straight through his heart.
For a moment, Alex's mind went completely blank.
Then pain exploded through his chest.
Heat bloomed as his vision blurred, and he watched in disbelief as his white shirt darkened with red. The world tilted. Sounds stretched and warped.
A siren wailed somewhere above.
Police.
The realization hit just as his knees gave way.
All of them wanted me gone.
He looked up.
The old man was still standing there, gun smoking, his expression unreadable.
Red and blue lights flashed at the basement entrance as officers rushed in, shouting orders, weapons raised. Chaos erupted—but Alex barely heard it.
"I built… all of this…" Alex forced out, blood filling his mouth, his voice barely a whisper.
"And this is the reward?"
His body finally gave in.
He slumped forward and hit the concrete hard.
Another gunshot echoed.
Then everything went dark.
WHAM.
Pain tore him back into existence.
A heavy leather boot slammed into his face, snapping his head to the side.
Alex flew through the air, his vision a blur of blue sky and dust before his body crashed onto stone. He rolled on the ground, bones screaming as agony flooded every nerve.
I was shot.
How am I still alive?
His ribs felt shattered. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and thick.
By all logic, he should have stayed down.
Yet a cold, unfamiliar sensation spread through his chest—deep and unnatural.
Something flickered in the air above him.
[Skill Activated]
Before he could focus on it, someone grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back into the ground.
Alex gasped, his vision blurred.
He forced his eyes open.
A boy stood a few meters away, dressed in a rough leather tunic, sneering down at him. The words coming from his mouth meant nothing—some foreign language filled with mockery and laughter.
The boy turned toward the crowd, spreading his arms as if putting on a show.
Alex's gaze shifted.
Stone walls. Towering pillars. An open arena.
People in robes and iron armor watched from all sides—some amused, some bored, some quietly disgusted. None of them moved to intervene.
No one cared.
Rage flooded Alex's body.
Betrayed. Shot.
And now kicked for entertainment.
The boy lifted his foot for a finishing stomp.
Alex moved.
With his one good arm, he grabbed the boy's ankle and yanked with everything he had.
The boy yelped as he slammed onto the stone.
Alex was on him instantly.
He grabbed the boy by the face and smashed it into the ground.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
The crowd gasped.
Alex hauled the boy up and drove a brutal kick into his stomach, sending him flying across the arena like a rag doll.
"If you kick me when I'm down," Alex growled, his voice low.
"pray I never get back up."
Silence fell.
Alex stood there, chest heaving. Pain still screamed through his body, his injuries far from healed—but he was standing.
Barely.
The crowd stared at him as if seeing a ghost.
"What the hell is this place…" Alex muttered.
"Colosseum?"
Voices echoed around him. None of them made sense.
Then pain exploded behind his eyes.
A sudden, piercing headache ripped through his skull as memories that weren't his slammed into his mind—names, faces, emotions that didn't belong to him.
His knees buckled.
Before he collapsed, Alex caught a glimpse of a raised platform overlooking the arena. Figures sat there in silence, watching.
Then darkness took him again.
The arena erupted into chaos.
Servants and healers rushed forward as murmurs turned into shouts.
"The match is over!" a voice thundered.
"Without a winner!"
Hours later, Alex's eyes snapped open.
Silk sheets brushed against his skin. The air smelled faintly of incense. The room was quiet—too quiet.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding.
Slowly, he reached for his chest.
His hand froze.
A translucent screen hovered in the air.
End