The Derium Trials happen once every fifteen years. This is the seventh on record, which means the first occurred roughly one hundred and five years ago.
No one knows exactly how the Trials work, or where they take place. But the event is always publicly announced. Two individuals wearing strange animal masks present themselves to the world, declaring that the Trials are a chance to leave this world behind. They claim there's another world—a place of magic, freedom, and the power to live without pain, sickness, or limits.
Complete the Trials—that's the only condition.
The application window remains open for the full fifteen years between each Trial. There's no process. No requirements. If you sign up, you're in—regardless of who you are or when you registered.
Once the Trial begins, that's it.
No follow-up. No footage. No information.
The people who enter are simply never seen again.
Nobody knows what happens to them—if they live, if they die, or if they actually reach the world they were promised. By now, most assume it's a one-way trip. Families offer quiet goodbyes. Some cut ties completely. Everyone understands: whoever enters the Trials does not come back.
Even so, people still sign up.
Some believe in the promise.
Others just want to escape.
"Go?"
The word echoes across the field like a bad joke.
"Go where?" someone mutters, voice tight with disbelief.
Thousands stand frozen—contestants packed shoulder to shoulder, breathing in dust and confusion. No one moves. Not because they're unwilling… but because there's nowhere to go.
No tunnel.
No gate.
No path.
Just cracked, lifeless earth stretching endlessly beneath a blackened sky, walled in by obsidian cliffs that reach toward clouds that never rain.
A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd like static. Isaac turns slowly, eyes scanning the towering metal gate they entered through.
Some of the sharper ones notice it too.
And then—movement.
Without warning, dozens of contestants bolt toward the gate, legs pounding, eyes wide with hope and fear.
BOOM!
The ground cracks open.
Screams tear through the air as stone and dust give way beneath their feet. Then—
DOOMSH!
Three thousand and seventeen bodies plummet into blackness.
No warning.
They're falling.
All of them.
Above, Rig chuckles, watching from the edge of the cliff.
"Oof. Guess that wasn't right."
Gemml leans forward, unamused. "You could've just removed the floor the moment you said 'go.'"
Isaac screams like a kettle.
"WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH—!"
Bodies plummet beside him, arms flailing. Some thrash wildly, others tumble limp in shock. The air fills with howls, prayers, vomit, curses—and the sickening sound of wind ripping past ears.
Someone yells, "I didn't sign up for this! I didn't—!"
A girl tumbles past Isaac, spinning like a ragdoll. Her hands claw at nothing. Her face is twisted in silent horror.
"I'M GONNA DIE!" a man shrieks.
Isaac's brain can't catch up. Everything's upside down—twisting and spiraling as gravity punches his gut again and again.
Then someone notices him.
"Wait—is that guy flapping his arms?"
"Yes!! What the hell is he—IS HE TRYING TO FLY?!"
"I panicked, okay?!" Isaac yells, voice cracking. "My brain did a thing and now my arms are doing a thing—LEAVE ME ALONE!"
A piece of someone's backpack flies past his face.
"I knew this was a cult!" someone screams.
Then someone else bursts into laughter—a full-on mental breakdown.
"We're all gonna diiiieee and I still owe rent—HAHAHAHAHAHA—!"
Isaac notices something glistening at the bottom of the abyss and takes a deep breath.
Then—
SPLASH!
Water.
Excessively cold and violent.
The impact knocks the air from his lungs. For a moment, everything goes white. Then comes the panic.
Isaac thrashes, limbs heavy and useless in the churning black water. He kicks upward—which way is up?—his heartbeat thundering in his skull.
Not good. Not good. NOT GOOD.
The thought blazes through his mind.
Shit! I can't swim!
Above the chaos, contestants who came prepared are already surfacing—some with inflatable gear, others gliding down in winged suits, barely disturbing the surface.
From the cliff, Rig and Gemml watch the disaster unfold on a glowing projection.
"Three hundred and twenty-seven down already," Rig says casually.
Quite a few contestants are already dead—some from heart failure brought on by the shock, others by drowning, and some from shattering their bones on impact.
Gemml nods, eyes narrowing at a ripple of chaos in the water.
Isaac gasps for air and chokes instead. His chest burns. His vision blurs. Every instinct screams at him to breathe, but he can't—he's going to die here, just minutes into the Trial.
"No... No, no, no—"
He clenches his eyes shut.
It's fine. I inhaled some air earlier.
I just need to blow really hard and rocket myself to the surface.
"ARGHHHHH!"
It didn't work.
He claws upward, muscles screaming.
"Come on... Come on!"
His lungs are caving in. His arms go numb.
"Mom… Dad…"
The thought hits like a spear to the chest.
"I'm sorry."
Tears mix with salt and panic.
"I couldn't even survive the first damn Trial..."
Elsewhere in the water, others surge forward.
Bard—a broad-shouldered veteran with sun-scorched skin—moves like a bullet. He cleaves through the waves with terrifying speed, arms cutting clean strokes as he pulls ahead of the pack.
"There!" he growls through gritted teeth.
"Ten meters—just ten more—"
But then the screaming begins.
"Something's in the water!"
Bard's eyes snap wide. He twists mid-stroke—just in time to see a shadow dart beneath him. It's massive. Fast. Silent.
Back at the cliffside, Rig winces.
"Oh ho... things just got spicy."
Gemml smirks, arms folded. "They let me design these trials myself."
"What?
No fair."
They both return their attention to the flailing boy still fighting for life.
"There's something about that one," Gemml murmurs.
Rig nods slowly. "Not skill. Not strength. Not even luck."
"Then what?"
Gemml watches as Isaac kicks with every ounce of strength he has left.
"Perseverance.
Or maybe just stubbornness."
"Produced by a hopeless world like this one?
Quite the oddity, I must say—
A boy who shouldn't exist."
At first glance, the world seems normal.
No war, no plague, no famine.
People still smile, still fall in love, still live and die as they always have.
But something's off.
Something you can't quite name.
Civilization has been running for thousands upon thousands of years.
Long enough for every system to calcify.
Long enough for every dream to be dreamed, every empire to rise and fall—over and over—until even change becomes a loop.
People don't suffer in fire anymore.
They suffer in routine.
In endless comfort that numbs the soul.
No one starves—but no one truly hungers either.
Not for meaning. Not for wonder. Not for anything that hurts in a way that makes you feel alive.
The world has grown old.
Not in age, but in spirit—
Worn down by repetition, polished smooth by time, until nothing sharp remains.
And then there was a boy.
Born like everyone else. Raised like everyone else.
But somehow… different.
Like a match that struck itself.
Isaac didn't learn to notice the world—he just did.
Renae and Nick weren't puzzled by his indifference—they were captivated by it, and learned to see the light he carried.
In their quiet way, they were the first to catch his spark,
Encouraging him to chase the dreams the world seemed to have forgotten.
Meanwhile...
The waters continue to drown in chaos as the strange lifeform tears through it with overwhelming speed and strength. Then, without warning, it vanishes beneath the surface.
For a brief moment, there's silence.
No movement. Just blood.
The survivors stare—wide-eyed, breath ragged—as dark crimson spirals drift across the water. Limbs float. A backpack bobs with the waves.
Some contestants are frozen in place, paddling weakly, mouths open like they want to scream but forgot how. One guy sobs openly, clutching the hand of a girl who isn't moving anymore. Another tries to climb onto a floating corpse, too numb to care.
A quiet panic spreads like a slow-burning fire.
Two thousand five hundred and twelve people—still in the game.
Bard gasps, chest heaving as he floats upright. He looks around, stunned by the chaos that unfolded in just moments.
Then he forces a breath and speaks.
"What the hell was that thing…?"
His voice cracks slightly.
Then softer—more like a broken attempt at optimism than a real statement:
"Good thing that's… all over now."
GLOOSH!
Everyone's attention snaps upward.
The water erupts with a deafening KRASHOOM!—a violent explosion of spray and sound.
From the depths shoots a sleek, shadowy shape, moving so fast it seems to tear through the very fabric of the air.
Its body is long and torpedo-like, sleek as a shark but twisted—segmented like a serpent with jagged, unnatural joints.
Two grotesque, wing-like fins flare from its sides, snapping open like broken blades as it launches skyward.
Its skin is oily black, shimmering faintly with eerie blue veins that pulse rhythmically.
Where its eyes should be, only faint, glowing slits remain—cold and unseeing, as if it senses the world in ways no human could.
Its mouth unhinges grotesquely, splitting both vertically and horizontally to reveal jagged, irregular rows of teeth—some thin as needles, others chipped and cruel like shattered glass.
Bard doesn't realize it yet, but in that split second, he's already caught in the beast's jaws.
"What?! It deliberately targeted me because I was closest to leaving?"
CRUNCH!
His head and feet plop into the water.
Eyes widen—shivering in fear.
This… this is impossible.
The thought runs through their minds.
"ARGHHHH!!"
Someone screams in terror, triggering a chain reaction—the cries of people who've just now realized what they've signed up for.
Rig, impressed by Gemml's decision, grins.
"A Virelith? Didn't think you had it in you."
"Although," he adds, "a Torchworm's rampage is a much greater spectacle."
"And you wonder why they won't let you design a single Trial," Gemml says dryly.
"I need to do something.
Anything," Isaac mutters as he desperately clings to life.
He can barely form a thought—just staying conscious makes his head feel like it'll burst.
He continues trying to survive, even as he approaches unconsciousness.
As his body sinks deeper, the piercing gaze of the Virelith keeps watch. Maybe because he's comatose, the creature doesn't approach.
Then, suddenly—its gills flare wide. It rockets to the surface, sensing someone nearing the edge. It seems the Virelith attacks anyone within ten meters of the perimeter.
This body of water is a perfect cube, each side one hundred meters long. Isaac is now only twenty meters from the bottom.
Some contestants attempt to break for the edge while the Virelith is distracted—but its speed, nearly Mach 1, makes escape impossible.
"So that's it—this Trial," a girl speaks up. "It's not about escape... it's an endurance test."
Everyone nearby turns their attention to her.
Risa, she has brownish–purple hair that reaches her waist, plastered wet against her back. Her frame is short and slightly rounded—curves clearly visible beneath her soaked blouse and shorts, which cling to her like a second skin. Her hands grip a waist bag firmly.
She's remained out of the spotlight until now—quiet, observant, easily overlooked. But now she speaks with a calm, level tone that slices through the panic.
Her face is flushed from the cold, but her eyes are sharp and steady.
"Who's that girl?" Rig asks, standing before the projection.
"Beats me—I don't usually pay attention to anyone this early," Gemml replies.
"Is there a countdown?
Maybe a few more people need to die first… or some combination of both?" she thinks, careful not to give anyone an edge.
At this point, two thousand and three contestants remain. Many have lost the will to continue—given in to despair. The sight of drifting limbs, the stench of blood, the lifeless heads bobbing on the surface...
Isaac—still unconscious—is unaware of the chaos above. In moments, he'll be just ten meters from the bottom.
The Virelith senses this and charges toward him. But it shows no interest in devouring his limp body. Instead, it slams him upward toward the surface—so fast the ripples become waves.
The waves drag exhausted swimmers closer to the edge.
The Virelith detects three within the ten-meter zone and attacks again.
POOF!
The water disappears.
One instant, they're drowning in blackness—limbs flailing, lungs screaming. The next, they're sprawled across cold stone.
Isaac and a few other unresponsive bodies now lie on solid ground.
The floating body parts—the stench of blood—all gone.
A boy collapses forward onto all fours and vomits, the sound of retching cutting through the still air. His breath comes in choking gasps, tears streaming down his face.
"I was drowning," he sobs. "I was drowning—I was dying—!"
Beside him, another contestant scrambles backward in a blind panic, eyes darting across the dry floor like he's still trying to swim. "It was just there—the water—where the hell did it go?!"
A girl clutches her chest and begins rocking back and forth, her voice barely audible. "I can't feel my legs… I can't feel my legs—"
But she can. They're just numb. The terror hasn't let her realize that yet.
Someone shrieks, the sound sudden and jagged.
"Is it over?! IS IT OVER?!"
The voice is raw, ripped from a throat that had been screaming for too long.
A boy with red-rimmed eyes just sits in place, soaked and shivering. He doesn't move—doesn't speak. He stares at his own trembling hands like they belong to someone else, then lies back against the stone and exhales a long, broken breath.
Despite being rid of the immediate danger, a majority were still petrified. Blank stares—purfurios sweating and heavy breathing.
A lanky teen in a soaked hoodie crawls over to one of them and checks for a pulse. He exhales. "This one's alive," he says. "Still breathing!"
A few others shuffle toward the scene-hesitant, wide-eyed.
One of them blinks. "Wait... is that the flappy arm guy?"
Another nods. "I thought he was gone. Honestly... I wouldn't have blamed him."
"I'm not surprised," someone mutters. "The weird ones always live."
Suddenly a swirl of black smoke appears in front of everyone.
The smoke curls and fades, revealing Rig and Gemml standing at the center of the stone platform.
"Congratulations on getting here," Gemml applauds them.
"The goal was simple: survive until two thousand remain," Rig added.
"Considering we started with over three thousand—I'd say you ought to applaud yourselves," he said, slightly mockingly.
"YOU!"
The shout erupts from a girl near the edge, her voice ragged, sharp with grief and fury.
"You monsters! What the hell was that?!"
Others join in—weak at first, then growing louder.
"People died! You killed them!"
"Are we even alive right now?!"
"This isn't a game!"
Rig doesn't flinch. Gemml doesn't even blink.
Their expressions remain unreadable, like this wasn't the first time they'd heard such outbursts… and wouldn't be the last.
"Say something!" a boy cries, staggering toward them, fists clenched. "You—You made us believe in this world! You lied!"
Gemml lifts a brow. "Did we?"
The boy stops, trembling.
"You said we could leave pain behind," someone else growls. "That this world would be better. That we could live."
"You can," Rig replies, a slight grin tugging at his mask. "You just have to survive this first."
That hangs in the air for a moment—bitter and cruel.
Another contestant tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He sits down instead, head in his hands.
The silence creeps back in.
Gemml surveys the soaked, scattered contestants—all shivering, dazed, or collapsed.
"You seem confused," they finally say. "So let us make something clear."
Gemml steps forward, gaze sweeping the crowd like a blade.
"That was Trial One."
A stunned hush follows.
For some, the words don't register. For others, they hit like a hammer. A few visibly deflate—shoulders dropping, eyes hollowing out. They had been too focused on survival, too overwhelmed by panic, to even consider that this was only the beginning.
"There are more?" someone croaks.
"But of course, it's called the Derium Trials for a reason," Rig says brightly. "Get it? Trial—s, plural."
"Did you think it would be over after one dip in the pool?"
"I barely made it through that one," another voice whispers, trembling.
"And many didn't," Gemml adds, tone colder now. "Take that however you will."
The backlash fizzles. No one has the energy to fight anymore.
Gemml turns away, voice flat but firm. "Get some rest. Settle down. You'll need it."
Rig's grin widens. "Once everyone's up, we'll share the details for Trial Two!"
And with that, the two figures dissolve into smoke—leaving behind a silence too thick to cut.
The surviving contestants remain still. No more outbursts. Just the occasional sob, the rustle of clothes, and the haunted breaths of those who've seen too much in too little time.
Isaac still hasn't woken up. His chest rises and falls gently now, but he lies limp—his expression calm in contrast to the chaos around him.
Risa sits quietly nearby, waist bag still clutched tight, eyes narrowed in thought. She watches him for a moment, then looks out over the others.
Two thousand contestants remain.