In a high-ceilinged stone hall, the sixteen survivors entered one after another.Their slow steps echoed against the gray floor, and the sound of silence seemed harder than the stone itself.
Each of them stood in place, leaving wide spaces between one another, as if in silent agreement that no one wished to come close.
Adam Ethan, the youngest of them, leaned his back against the farthest wall, watching the stiff faces that avoided looking at him directly. Some stared into emptiness, others at the edges of their clothes stained with the dust of the Transparent World.
No one spoke.No one introduced themselves.There was nothing worth introducing.
Slow breaths rose from their chests, as though each one struggled to believe they had come out alive.Time passed—no one knew how long… maybe minutes, maybe half an hour.No movement, save for a shoulder's faint shake here, a nervous gasp there.
Adam lowered his eyes to his hands.He remembered the Transparent World…The woman who had given him the ability…The long path no one but him could understand…Then he slowly raised his gaze.
He felt nothing.He did not feel that they were survivors like him.Each one of them was trapped in his own solitude, as if the only thing they shared was the grim luck of not being dead yet.
And so they remained, aligned in a silent circle.No one asked for a name.No one offered help.Even breathing felt like a violation of a sacred silence.
Then the iron door creaked open, and a guard entered without sparing them a glance, his tone flat and lifeless:
— "You sixteen… prepare for the final stage."
No one moved immediately.It was as if they needed a full second to believe the voice was real.
Then, with slow steps, they began to advance one by one…Exiting in a silent row, eyes downcast, not glimpsing one another's faces.
Adam was the last to step out of the hall.He did not feel that anyone shared this long corridor with him.
(These are not comrades… nor enemies… perhaps not even anything at all.)
And so the door closed slowly behind them, leaving their shadows to withdraw from the place… without a single word.
In the long dark corridor, a stone wall slid open to reveal a massive screen glowing with cold white light.
On the screen, neat writing appeared:
[List of Participants in the Final Stage]
Beneath the title, names began to appear one after another, each one glowing briefly before fixing in place:
Algy Rangers – Age 23Oro Lex – Age 17Marrakech Lini – Age 19Constantine Roll – Age 33Anas Ouzane – Age 14Dan Linker – Age 71Sam Bright – Age 27Steve Max – Age 24Lara Batna – Age 18John Smith – Age 43Adia Finger – Age 36Romal Anderson – Age 20Ryan Burke – Age 22Loki Brian – Age 19Sami Imar – Age 17Adam Ethan – Age 12
All stood in utter silence.
No one raised an eyebrow in surprise, no one remarked on Adam's youth or Dan Linker's old age, nor on the strangeness of their gathering.
Only that cold light shone on their pale faces, carving features as if devoid of emotion.
Then the screen went black without further explanation, and another metallic door opened onto the next passage.
No one uttered a word.As though each was reading something private in his own name… something that meant nothing to the others.
Adam lowered his eyes—not to deny his name, but because he felt, for a moment, that words had lost all meaning.
Just names… just numbers…
Then they moved forward, slowly, one by one…Heading toward whatever awaited them.
When the survivors stepped through the metallic door, a vast chamber opened before them. Its ceiling shimmered with crystalline lanterns, their light reflected on a stone floor marked with mysterious lines like talismans.
They stood in a long row, watching a man in a long dark robe standing at the center of a carefully carved circle, his hands clasped confidently behind his back.
His face was pale, his eyes gray, lifeless.Yet when he spoke, his voice carried an authority like gravity itself:
"Welcome to the final stage…"
He paused, lifting his gaze slowly across each face: Adam the boy, Dan the elder, Constantine with piercing eyes, Oro standing like a statue…Then he continued, deliberately:
"My name is Jimmy Froth. That may mean nothing to most of you… but to some, it might be familiar."
His eyes brushed past Adam, who felt the shadow of an old memory seep from the word "the Masked One," just as he had guessed on that black night.
Jimmy smiled faintly:
"This stage is the conclusion of the Endurance Tournament. Here alone is the true worth of every being measured."
He raised his right hand, and the carvings on the ground ignited, transparent walls of energy rising to encircle each pair in adjoining arenas.
"You will face each other directly. The victor advances to the next round… the loser is erased instantly."
A silent shiver spread through them.Even Adam felt something like electricity crawl through his bones.
"But that is not all."
Jimmy waved a single finger:
"The victor inherits one of the loser's abilities… randomly. A gift from the Transparent World you all traversed."
He lifted his other hand upward, a dim light gathering above it until it formed a translucent halo.
"And whoever remains until the end…"
He paused, savoring the words:
"…will inherit all the emotions and memories of those they defeated. Their soul will carry everything their opponents experienced—whether they desire it or not."
He looked at Adam again, then the others, his smile thin and merciless:
"This is not merely a game of life or death… it is a game of soul-merging."
He raised both hands, and the energy arenas shone brighter:
"Begin your preparations… in one month, the battles commence. Remember—only one of you will walk out of here."
Train. I do not care.
Then he turned away with slow steps, leaving the weight of his words reverberating in their heavy chests.
Inside Adam Ethan's mind:
(The explanation is too simple… in a way that arouses suspicion.)
Adam stood without showing tension, eyes fixed on the energy wall before him, but his mind was elsewhere.
(Kill – Victory – Transfer – Inheritance… all clear concepts. Simple. Too logical… to the point of being frightening.)
He slowly raised his eyes, still glowing faintly with the remnants of the Transparent World that hadn't left him.
(If I die here, my story ends. The victor becomes my replacement… carrying everything. Does this mean the real protagonist… is the one who endures?)
He thought for a moment:
(Maybe this was never my story to begin with.)
He smirked with cold irony, unnoticed by anyone.
Jimmy Froth spoke again to the group.
He stopped in the middle of the hall, turning toward them slowly, as though his words were addressed not only to them… but to the whole world:
"You may wonder who devised this blood-soaked trial…"
He raised his hand toward the ceiling, and a strange shadow slipped between the lights, forming a hazy image of a face—familiar to some.
The face of the Masked One.
"That Masked Man… came to me years ago with a strange proposal."
He looked directly at Adam this time:
"He said: What if we take away everyone's hope… and force them to fight for its survival?"
He laughed, a hoarse sound:
"I thought it a joke at first… but soon I realized what he proposed was not a trial of survival, but a trial of essence."
He stepped forward:
"The goal was never survival… but to reveal who deserves to bear the sins of others. Who can carry their souls without breaking."
His tone quieted, voice lower:
"You are all mere tools… we are searching for something rare: a person who can remain human, even after swallowing everything."
The dark hall was like an ancient altar, its walls etched with glowing seals that pulsed faintly, as though breathing. In its center, a harsh voice rose—not from the air, but from within the bones of the listeners:
— "We have brought you gifts… powers unknown to this world. Abilities scattered among you at random, drawn from the Transparent World itself, that unseen dimension touched only through forbidden means. You will feel them pulsing inside you… like a new fire igniting your soul."
They exchanged silent glances. Some eyes glowed with wonder and greed, others trembled with dread, realizing every gift bore a hidden curse.
The voice sharpened:
— "But… since you have taken what was never yours, we have placed restraints. Each of you now carries within the depths of your soul a spiritual bomb. You cannot see it, you cannot touch it—but it is there, waiting. Should anyone attempt escape, or fail to appear at the trial a month from now… their soul will explode instantly. No body, no trace—only ashes scattered to the wind."
A heavy silence hung. Even their breathing seemed cut off, as though fear had devoured the air.
The voice sank to a whisper, sharp as a dagger:
— "This is no threat… it is a covenant. The Transparent World grants nothing without cost, and you are now part of the game. Consider it an opportunity… or a death sentence."
Some felt strange energy rising inside them. One sensed a searing cold flooding his veins, another heard a muffled thunder in his head as if gravity itself reversed, another glimpsed flickers of light and shadow circling him like unseen wings. They knew these powers were not ordinary, but shards stolen from realms never meant for them.
Yet all this awe and terror could not mask a single truth:The fear of death hanging over their souls, the dread of that unseen "spiritual bomb" screaming within them.
Sami Imar could not suppress the tremor in his voice:— "And what if… we refuse?"
The reply came as a cold laugh, not human at all:— "Then… you will be the first witness to the explosion of your soul."
All stepped back in unison. None dared to speak again.
And in the depths of each one, a question began to pound relentlessly:Were the powers they had received a blessing… or a curse binding chains upon their souls before they could grasp their worth?
Back to Adam's thoughts:
(All this talk… it reminds me of him.)
(The Masked One… the one who began everything in my life, and the one I might… end everything with.)
He slowly clenched his fist, his eyes glowing with that twin glimmer of lightning and shadow:
(I will not die here.)
(And if this is the end for the others… then I will make it my beginning.)