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Chapter 13 — The Curtain Begins to Rise
The dim fog of the Nightmare shifted like a breathing lung. Time crawled forward, and with each day that passed, the weight of survival grew heavier. Only five days remained. Eleven contenders. One traitor. And behind a painted smile, Chester watched it all unfold.
He sat alone on a crooked rock, a distance away from his group. The Nightmare sky, with its rippling darkness, offered no light—only the pale flicker of floating sparks far above.
With a flick of his wrist, he opened his inventory, a subtle shimmer pulsing before his masked eyes.
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[Inventory]
Sword of the Lord of Chance (Mythic)
A blade born from pure probability. The more uncertain the future, the stronger it gleams. Resonates with destiny when wielded by its true bearer.
Shadow Step (1 use left) (Stolen Skill: Marlo)
Allows the user to vanish into the shadows and reappear within 10 meters. Cooldown: None for stored copy. One use remains.
Ghost of a Skill (Stored: Shadow Step) (Special)
Allows the user to use a previously witnessed skill once per acquisition.
Dice of Providence (Mythical Tool)
Can be rolled once to create a singular, absolute event—within one minute of activation. Cannot be stopped or avoided. Rolls once per 30 days. Stored.
Trash Item #1: Whispering Pebble
Sometimes giggles. Serves no other function.
Trash Item #2: Shoelace of the Damned
Curses your enemies to trip. Maybe.
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Chester tilted his head. "One mythical blade, one mythical dice, one shadow step, and two cursed gag gifts. The pillar really is playing dice with me," he chuckled.
But there was no mirth behind the sound. Only calculation.
He leaned back, fingers gently tracing the hilt of the Sword of the Lord of Chance. The blade hadn't yet tasted blood—but it pulsed when he touched it. It wanted to be used.
He remembered the sensation when it first appeared—his fourth roll, the screen blazing with gold and power. His mask had hidden his widened eyes then, but he hadn't stopped grinning for hours.
"This world," Chester whispered, "loves luck... but hates the lucky."
And still—he'd been pretending. The fool. The comic relief. The cheerful clown of the game.
He stood slowly, brushing off phantom dust. His posture straightened, mask tilting just slightly toward the sky. The act was ending.
"It's time," he said.
A voice cut through the mist behind him.
"Is it really?"
He turned.
Veyra stood there—cool, sharp-eyed, arms crossed. The Pillar of Truth's gaze always seemed to pierce deeper than anyone liked. But Chester... smiled.
Under the mask, his eyes gleamed.
"It's time," she said again. "Right?"
He paused.
Then nodded.
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End of Chapter 13
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