The Rebellion
It began with defiance.
A young man stepped forward from the confused, scattered crowd. He wore a half-torn jacket, boots still muddy from another world — or maybe just another mistake. His eyes burned not with fear, but rage.
"Screw this," he growled, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I ain't playing the hag's game!"
No one moved.
He spat, then kicked one of the ritual markers etched into the cracked ground. A soft clang echoed — louder than it should have been.
Gasps followed. Some backed away from him as if the air around him had suddenly turned toxic.
Then…
A voice answered.
Soft. Patient. Amused.
"Ahh," the old woman whispered through the realm, her voice dripping in ancient cruelty, "every mutiny needs its first corpse…"
Before he could blink, black thorns burst from the earth.
They impaled him — through chest, throat, skull. His screams were cut short.
"The sea don't mourn the drowned," she murmured.
His body didn't fall. It burned. Charring mid-air, turning to ash, glowing softly like a paper lantern drifting into the night.
"Pain," she said, "is the oldest truth."
Ash fell like cursed snow.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Bjorn watched the ash fall with narrowed eyes.
She doesn't punish, he thought. She performs.
Lucien stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes sharp like a dagger. He didn't flinch at the death.
Now they're afraid, he thought. Good.
Fear was useful.
---
Lucien & Aira
Lucien walked forward, casual yet commanding, his shadow stretching across the ground. He was not alone — a small cluster of people followed him, uncertain but drawn to the gravity he carried.
"Fear," he said with a smirk, "is such a dull leash."
He made his way toward a girl seated near a faded monolith.
Eira.
Tear tracks stained her cheeks, but her posture had hardened. Her eyes were no longer afraid — only alert.
Lucien crouched slightly, giving her a gentle smile that never reached his eyes.
"You're special," he said. "Be mine."
She stared at him — as if he were a spider weaving silk.
"Even rot wrapped in roses," she replied quietly, "still stinks."
Silence followed.
Lucien's smirk twitched. His followers shifted awkwardly.
Bjorn watched from a distance.
He spat into the dirt.
That guy... he thought, stinks worse than fear.
Setting the Game
Far beyond the crowd's reach, hidden in the fog, shadows stirred.
Figures moved in the haze — unrevealed players. Some were watching. Others… waiting.
The seven monoliths suddenly pulsed, glowing brighter. The ground rumbled softly.
ゴゴゴゴゴ…
The old woman's voice returned, as if echoing from deep water.
"Greed… Wrath… Pride…"
"Every sin finds its shepherd."
High above the chaos, the orb's sky cracked open like a mirror. From a bird's-eye view, factions began to form.
Pride: Led by Lucien, gathering the arrogant and charming.
Wrath: Led by Torvald, a hulking man whose knuckles bled from too many fights.
Lust: Led by Nina, her voice a siren's call, her smile carved in poison.
Sloth: Led by Marlo, a thin boy lying beneath a tree, half-asleep, eyes closed but always listening.
Greed: Led by silas, who already had a ring on every finger and a dagger behind every back.
Envy: Led by Dahlia, who smiled at everyone as if she were waiting for them to die.
Gluttony: Led by bran, who devoured an entire ration bag before picking his team.
Each sin had found its host. Its army.
This wasn't survival.
It was offering.
---
One-Man Army
Bjorn walked alone.
His boots cracked the moss-covered stones of a crumbling path. The air shimmered strangely here. Voices whispered around him, though none were his own.
All of them… scheming, grouping, begging.
To his left, a gathering was forming — strangers with hopeful eyes and open hands.
"Hey!" one called. "You alone? Join us—!"
Bjorn didn't even slow down.
"No."
He tightened the strap on his backpack, eyes locked on the mist ahead.
I wasn't built for tribes.
His silhouette stretched behind him, long and sharp. Around him, the light seemed to bend unnaturally. It didn't welcome him. It warned others.
He passed into the fog.
They'll slow me down.
His face — bruised, pale, determined — came into view for just a moment as the mist closed in again.
If I have to become a monster to survive…
Then I'll become the last one standing.
[End of Chapter 4]
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**Reader Poll: Which Faction Would YOU Join?**
The Orb World isn't fair… but it is honest.
If you were dropped into this cursed world... where would you find your place?
**WRATH** – Strength through pain. Fight first, bleed later.
**LUST** – Desire is power. Manipulate or be devoured.
**SLOTH** – Hide, watch, survive. Movement means death.
**PRIDE** – Lead or rule. You were born better than the rest.
**ENVY** – Take what others have. You deserve it more.
**GREED** – Everything has a price. Own it all.
**GLUTTONY** – Consume to feel alive. Hunger is god.
**NONE?** – Would you stand alone, like Bjorn?
🗣️ Drop your faction in the comments! 👇
Let's see who survives longest...