Perhaps we have already failed the trials of life, or perhaps we never even had the chance to truly draw strength to fulfill our goals... thinks Louis to himself.
"I don't know why... But for the first time, I feel hope... I feel its energy flooding my chest drowned in rapid heartbeat..."
"Hold onto that feeling, Louis... Feel the hope, but don't lose your head..." replies Willy.
"Now then!"
The team distribution will follow...
Saiyna, James, Linnia, Azorg.
Take the blue scarf.
"Azorg? So that's the name of the man in the iron mask..." whispers Willy.
Next:
Tazold, Dimeny, Pekrin, Neznat.
Take the red scarf into your hands.
Next:
Louis, Kodella, Willy, Tony.
Step forward and take the purple scarf.
Now, wait in line before the door marked with the clover symbol until the shepherd appears.
"Shepherd?? What is she talking about?" asks Willy.
"The ones who herd us," snaps Louis.
"To our fate?"
"Let's hope not..."
"If we defend ourselves, there'll be no problem..."
"They don't give us much time to get to know the other teams," Tony speaks up.
"Tch... They're all assholes," Willy snaps back.
"One of them, as I see it, is around thirty or seventy years old... the other one looks rather thin and weak," says Louis.
"But look at the guy beside them, the one around thirty, in the white hoodie... he looks calm..." says Willy, as he surveys the impatient players gathered before the door.
"If you can think with a cool head during the game, it's an advantage," Tony replies.
"True!"
The door swings open.
"Please, step through the door..." says a tall, lanky woman with long limbs, greeting them from the outer side of the door, holding a shepherd's staff in her hand.
They step into a giant space, surrounded by a sky veiled in darkness stretching into infinity. Rows of seating encircle a massive, square-shaped chasm in the center.
To maintain proper distance between teams... The blue team shall take seats at the left side of the chasm,
the red team on the right side,
and the purple team should find seats directly across.
"Between two fires..." notes Willy.
"Let's hope not..." Tony replies hopefully.
The moment everyone takes their seat, a trickling sound grows louder from the chasm until a massive wheel of fortune emerges, drawn up by two chains.
"And now the first round shall begin!" calls the shepherd again.
"What if none of us attacks?"-Pekrin asked.
"Then the attack will be chosen randomly."
"Hey Louis, shouldn't we attack Linnia or Tazold?" asks Tony.
"If we get weakened, we could become targets..."
"Either way, you have to take risks in this game," says Willy...
Stepping out of the moment of uncertainty, Neznat prepares to rise from his seat.
"Pekrin... look..." Dimeny whispers to him.
"Hmm..."
Suddenly, Tazold jump up from his seat and starts shouting:
"If you cowards won't act... The first attack is an opportunity... I attack Tony from the purple team!" declares Tazold.
Neznat slowly and jerkily turns his head toward Tazold.
"What are you looking at? I issued my attack first!
Or do you perhaps disagree with my decision?"
"Hm. In that case, the opportunity is yours... the point is yours... I leave it to you."
"Idiot! It would be enough just to survive..." Saiyna said.
"If we attack someone, then this is provocation... a call for revenge... thinks Dimeny to himself.
Tony suddenly freezes in the claws of the impending attack.
"What matters in this world if not the sanctity of your principles, or the adornment of a soul neither human nor not? Louis..., Willy, Kodella, don't worry, I will prove myself."
"So be it... let the earth collapse! Let the bitter storm rain down its thunderous horrors, and let the sky fall with it!" – Tony's eyes bulge, and power floods him, the kind needed for survival.
"If you're talking about collapse... I attack you in the Body category."
Attack initiated: Body category.
The lottery begins:
The fast-spinning wheel reveals four slowly distinguishable symbols.
"Let it be nothing, let it be nothing, let it be nothing," Louis mutters to himself.
The enormous wheel of fortune begins to spin, while Louis and Willy are drenched in cold sweat as if they had awakened from a nightmare. Kodella stands up, unable to remain seated from the tension as the wheel turns.
The instinctive pressure of tension doesn't allow Kodella to stay seated. She rises, though every part of her body trembles. She crouches down, leaning against the railing in front of them.
The other team members are similarly commanded by anxious attention toward the first challenge.
The wheel of fortune stops at a now fully clear symbol: one word: Atlas.
"Atlas... from Greek mythology?"
The name of the task: Atlas – the physical manifestation of your soul's weight. You must carry it on your back for 33 minutes to win the game.
If the player lets go of the sack weighted onto their shoulder or can no longer stand on their feet, they lose.
"Carry the sack, Santa ! Hahaha," Tazold mocks.
"Shut the hell up..." says James , annoyed.
"Haha, and why should I? Isn't this all about attacking? Let me enjoy it..."
"You enjoy this?"
"Should I feel sorry? After my country, they're going after our women too, these morons. Cause of their kind, I sacrificed my soul to Zahier... the only true power..."
"Zahier? Zahier, prince of the deepest underworld?" James is stunned into silence by the name.
"What now? Are we even starting to—"
Tazold's words trail off as a blaring trumpet shrieks through the air.
The lift lowers the wheel of fortune, and then a massive industrial scale takes its place.
"Now comes the weighing of the burden..." says the shepherd.
A massive triangular cloud forms above their heads, and the wind rises with such force that Kodella struggles with her steps as she returns toward Louis.
Louis stands.
"Give me your hand, Kodella..."
Suddenly, sacks begin to fall from the sky onto the scale:
1 sack, 2 sacks, 3, 4,
"80 kg..."
5, 6, 7,
"140..."
"140 kg?? That's way too much! Enough!" shouts Louis.
"That's the weight of his soul... let him suffer for it," Tazold replies mockingly.
"Hmmm... May the ancient forces aid him..." Pekrin mutters to himself, watching closely.
8, 9, 10, 11, and the 12th sack drops as well — the final one. And all of them end up in one large canvas bag.
In total, 240 kilograms...
"Pekrin… look! 240 kg... how is he supposed to carry that for over half an hour? It's impossible…" Dimeny mutters.
"Bags inside a bag? Is this a joke?"
"This could even be dangerous, right?" James asks the shepherd.
"The bag would slip from the hand first…, he can't die from this. So, the chance of death in this game is actually lower than on the road that brought you here."
"I see... So i just has to endure it... it's the only way... otherwise, i lose a point…"
Tony takes off his shirt. The players stare in surprise as he steps into the trial…
"Not a bad build…" Azorg grumbles, though a flicker of respect lingers in his voice.
"Tony, take it upon your shoulders and carry the weight of your soul," says the shepherd.
He approaches the sack, grips it with both hands, and hoists it onto his left shoulder. His legs are already trembling, and the rough fabric bites into his skin.
He struggles to draw breath within the painful embrace pressing against his ribs.
Tony is panting. His body fights the weight with all its might, but something more keeps him standing. Something not born of muscle.
"The weight of our sins… is this what it truly weighs?" Neznat wonders, watching the suffering figure.
Saiyna sits with crossed legs, quietly watching it all. Her hand briefly touches her chest as her fingers fidget. Lillian watches Tony with a half-smile while nervously biting her nails. Azorg's face remains stone-cold as he follows the scene.
"How many minutes have passed?" Tazold asks.
"Ten," replies Pekrin, glancing at a pocket watch.
Suddenly, Tony's knee buckles. A moment, a twitch — but everyone sees it.
"Come on… don't give up!" Louis whispers.
Tony clenches his jaw. His strength nears its limit — but he holds.
And still, Tony stands. His arms tremble, sweat drips from his forehead, but he doesn't break.
"Twenty minutes have passed," says the shepherd, his voice drifting across the hall like a heavenly pegasus.
"Still 13 minutes left?" Tony groans internally, leaning forward. The end of the sack now rests against his lower back, as pain throbs at his spine's center.
We live among affirmations that feed our faults — keeping us from growth… I won't let it... I won't!
"The soul takes shape… and now we see how immense it truly is," whispers Pekrin, glancing at the time again.
Hm… only five minutes left.
"He's not doing badly at all… What do you think?" Dimeny asks Pekrin.
"The young man is strong — but is his soul as strong as his body?"
Tony focuses. His strength spreads slowly, even as the weight crushes his chest with ever-increasing pressure.
"You bastard!" Willy snaps at Tazold.
"I'm the bastard? Aren't we here to play? We all know why we're here… we're here…"
"Hm… yeah, we know… But I like this game…" he mutters quietly. He lifts his head, the searing fabric burning his palms, pain pulsing through every point of his body. Tony's deadened eyes dissociate, lost in flickering memories. Among long-buried fragments.
"We both know why we're here…"
He leans away from her face.
"Hah… I love this game…"
"We've only just arrived…" she replies quietly.
"We've already wasted so much of our lives apart," he whispers and leans closer.
This time, he leans in with even stronger, more determined desire — as if oil were poured onto a blazing torch.
The girl can't — and doesn't want to — hide how starved she is for passion, and on the table of his body, she has found the richest feast for her hunger…
15 minutes remain!
"Come on, Tony! Hang in there!" Louis encourages him.
Holding on, overcoming the pain, Tony stands still, lost within himself — the place where suffering has driven him.
Only two minutes left!
"So you underestimated him?" Neznat says to Tazold, who growls in frustration, slamming his hands.
"So I'm the loser?! Doomed to be the loser again?!…"
"Come on, Tony, I know you're strong... Pure strength and perseverance…" Willy urges.
Tony just stares ahead, face flushed, unable to speak from the pain.
Another image flares in his splintering thoughts:
"You were so rough and heartless… not like before…"
"Without feeling? I've never known how to do it without feeling… They're just not the same feelings anymore. You caused too much pain in my heart. So... this energy…"
"It turned, didn't it?! That's all you ever talk about, really?! Do you know how much my womb hurt?! You treated me like a rag doll!"
A cold hatred freezes on her face. Her eyes become demonic.
Tony's eyes, on the other hand, soften… as does his body…
"I can't take this anymore… nooo…" he whimpers in despair, tears welling up in his eyes. The grip of the sack stains red from blood rubbed raw from his palms.
10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5…
"Ahh…"
"Nooooo…"
4… 3… 2…
"Yesssss!"
"Nooooo!"
Voices erupt, full of passion and turmoil, as the game comes to its conclusion...