Elior sat alone on the cold tiles of the bunker's washroom, knees bent, elbows resting on them, hands covering his mouth.
The dim light above flickered, throwing his shadow in broken pieces across the wall. His breath was steady but his mind was storming.
The system's words were still burning in his head.
[ Quest : Collect 5 Glass Shards before Nightfall ]
[ Quest Failure : Lost Sanity ]
He knew what it meant. Shards would only drop when someone died. Each person here was being pushed toward the same corner. Murder for survival. Yet, if they all followed it blindly, they would rip each other apart until no one remained.
He lifted his head, staring at the mirror above the sink. His reflection looked unfamiliar, his eyes darker than before.
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he muttered under his breath. His voice cracked against the silence.
He thought of Grace, of the children who flinched away from her Face. He thought of people who went for the Event, somewhere out there in the desert, fighting for their own place in this cursed world.
Then he thought of himself, someone who had already shed blood for his own Face.
Someone who knew too well what killing meant.
The system wanted them to fall. Wanted their sanity broken. Was that the real game?
Elior pressed his palms against his face, holding himself still as the tension pulled tighter inside him.
A bitter thought crept in. If I refuse, they die. If I follow, they still die.
He scratched his jaw. The air in the small room felt thinner, heavier. The time since this game began, Elior wasn't sure if strength or strategy could solve what lay ahead.
He was trapped between two deaths.
Elior pushed the washroom door open and walked back into the hall. His steps resounded, sharp and uneven, because the air inside had changed. He froze for a moment, his eyes catching the scene before him.
Blood. Not a lot, but enough to tell what had happened.
A young man lay on the floor, his face pale, lifeless. Another body slumped near the wall, and people had gathered in tense clusters, some trembling, some shouting, most just standing in silence, too broken to move.
Elior's eyes widened.
Then he saw them.... Azmaik Veyric, standing with a dark, satisfied grin, his weapon dripping. Beside him, Vincent Chilham, tall and cold-eyed, his expression unreadable but firm, as though every life lost was part of a bigger calculation. Lastly, Sassy Star, leaning on her long, jagged blade, almost playful in the way she twirled it, her eyes scanning the survivors like they were nothing more than numbers on a board.
These three… Dominion Seeker and the other two ideology leaders.
They had already begun.
"No," Elior whispered, his voice caught in his throat at first. Then he stepped forward, louder, anger breaking through. "Stop this! Stop right now!"
Dozens of eyes turned to him. The silence broke into mutters. Elior's fists tightened. He took another step forward, his voice shaking but sharp.
"There must be another way. Killing each other isn't it. We can solve this without blood. We don't have to play exactly how the system wants us to."
Azmaik tilted his head, his grin widening. He licked a streak of blood off his finger, mocking Elior with the gesture. "Solve it peacefully?" he said slowly, almost savoring the words. "You're still dreaming. You know what the quest said. Five shards before nightfall, or sanity collapses. You think peace will save anyone?"
Vincent Chilham of The Covenant of Face, took a step forward, his face calm, his voice level and heavy. "He's right. This is not about choice anymore. It's necessity. Each shard is tied to death. The system made it that way. If we don't act, we all lose ourselves and if we hesitate, we'll simply be the next ones to fall."
Sassy Star of the Liberators chuckled, tilting her blade until the metal caught the dim light. "You're too soft, Elior. Look around you. Half of them are already shaking. Do you think they'll survive till dawn without breaking? Better to use them now than let them drag us all into madness later. The system gave the rules. We're just following them."
Elior's jaw clenched. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He looked at the bodies on the floor, at the terrified eyes of those who were left. They were just people, weak, scared, clinging to hope.
His voice rose, shaking but resolute. "No. That's what it wants! That's exactly what this game feeds on. Our despair, our blood. If we turn on each other, then we've already lost. There has to be another path."
Azmaik laughed, sharp and cruel, like steel scraping stone. Vincent's face didn't move, but his silence was its own judgment. Sassy simply smirked, rolling her wrist with a lazy flick of her blade.
The three leaders stood, united in belief. Elior stood opposite them, alone.
And in that moment, the hall felt like it would split in two.
Elior's breath grew heavier as the hall buzzed with whispers and muffled sobs.
The blood on the floor hadn't even dried, yet the air already reeked of despair. And in that despair, Elior felt something stirring inside him.
The Dawn of Happiness, Smile.... his Face. It twitched alive without him calling for it. The lily branch on his back throbbed faintly, leaking a dim glow. His vision blurred, and for a split second he wasn't in the hall anymore.
He saw shadows of futures.
People tearing each other apart, their screams clashing against stone walls. Survivors losing their sanity, clawing at their own skin. Even betrayal.... Grace turning away from him with blood on her hands. Each vision burned into him, real enough to make his knees weak.
And then the Face whispered not in words, but in weight. A message clear as truth, every choice has a cost.
Elior steadied himself, lifting his head. His heart was rattling in his chest, but his resolve hardened. If bloodshed was inevitable, then he had to carve a third path from within it, no matter how impossible it looked.
Azmaik stepped forward, breaking the silence with a grin. "You see it now, don't you?" His voice echoed across the bunker. "Despair is the only thing this place breeds. And if you think you can change that…" He raised a hand, signaling. "Then prove it. Tower Challenge."
Murmurs shot through the hall. Everyone knew what that meant.
Azmaik went on, savoring the moment. "You'll fight. First, those we choose from the three ideologies. Round after round, until you're either broken or bleeding. If you make it through, then…" He gestured toward himself, Vincent, and Sassy. "You face us."
Elior's gritted his teeth. The rules were set. He had no power to shape them, only to endure.
The silence pressed on him like stone. He looked at the crawling survivors, their eyes hollow, desperate for someone to hold onto.
His chest rose, and he said it clearly, without hesitation.
"I accept."
The hall erupted some in fear, others in dark excitement.
Grace was kneeling beside a young boy, helping him drink from a dented tin cup.
Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice stayed steady, whispering words of comfort as the child clung to her sleeve. Around her, the few who were left huddled together, afraid to even look up, their eyes wide from what they had seen.
Elior approached quietly, his footsteps heavy.
His face carried no anger, no expression even only an anxiety that felt heavier than rage.
Grace noticed him before he spoke. She could see it in his eyes. Something had cracked inside him.
"You're hurt," she said softly, though not about his body. "I can see it."
Elior didn't answer right away. He stood there, watching the flickering shadows on the bunker wall. Then, with a low voice, he said, "I have to fight."
Grace's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"The Tower Challenge," Elior replied, his tone flat, almost lifeless. "They want blood to settle this. They'll keep killing each other until nothing's left. I don't have a choice."
Grace set the tin cup down and stood, her hands curling into fists. "There has to be another way—"
"There isn't." His words cut her off, sharp but not cruel. He turned his head toward her, and for a moment, the mask of stillness cracked. She saw the pain under it. The weight of futures he had glimpsed but couldn't share. "I'll carry it. Whatever it takes. Just… stay alive."
Grace's eyes widened. She wanted to argue, to pull him back, but she understood. He wasn't cold. He was breaking inside, yet forcing himself to move anyway.
So she only nodded, though her eyes stung. "Then I'll be here. I'll take care of them while you protect."
Elior gave the faintest nod in return, then turned away. His silence said everything.
The pain was his alone, and he had chosen to bear it.... He was always a failure....