The trenches stretched on, twisting like veins through the battlefield. Gunfire cracked in the distance, but here in the mud and smoke, the enemy was almost secondary.
The real war was inside their battalion.
Every whisper dripped with suspicion. Every step felt like it could end in a knife to the back. Survivors huddled together not because they trusted each other, but because they feared being left alone.
And at the center of it all, Arata walked calmly, rifle slung over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
The devil leading lambs through hell.
They reached an intersection in the trenches. Beyond it, a faint glow shimmered — a tall, tattered flag, planted deep in the mud, guarded by enemy players crouched with weapons.
The objective.
Aya's breath caught. "Th-that's it…"
Haruto gritted his teeth. "We'll never get close. They'll mow us down."
Riku's voice was sharp, bitter. "So what now, Arata? Gonna tell us to run in and die so you can swoop in after?"
Ren giggled softly. "Mmm… I'd die for him. But only if it looked pretty."
Sayaka adjusted her glasses, eyes narrowing. "The flag is bait. If we charge, we're finished. If we wait, we'll be picked off one by one. So what's your plan, commander?"
Dozens of eyes turned to Arata again. Fearful. Desperate.
He smiled faintly.
"Simple," he said. "We don't take the flag."
Gasps. Confusion. Whispers.
"What—"
"Is he insane?"
"Then we'll fail—"
Arata raised a hand. "No. They take the flag. We let them fight for it, bleed for it, die for it. And when both sides are too broken to stand…"
His smile widened. "We claim what's left."
It was madness. It was cruel.
And yet… it was perfect.
The battalion murmured, shifting nervously. Aya looked at him with wide, fearful devotion. Haruto clenched his fists, torn. Riku's glare burned hotter than ever. Sayaka smirked faintly, approval in her eyes. Ren tilted her head, fascinated, whispering, "Cold-blooded genius…"
Arata's voice cut through the trench, sharp as a blade.
"Here's the truth: you don't win by being brave. You win by being alive at the end. So stay down, stay silent, and let the idiots kill each other."
The trap worked like clockwork.
Minutes passed. Another battalion stormed the flag, clashing with its defenders in a storm of blood and fire. Gunfire echoed, screams filled the air, bodies collapsed into the mud.
From the shadows, Arata watched calmly. Every shot. Every death. His group trembled, but they obeyed. Because they feared him more than the enemy.
When the dust settled, the flag still stood — but both sides lay broken, bleeding, barely alive.
Arata rose. His voice was calm. "Now."
He moved like a shadow, rifle steady, shots precise. Sayaka followed, her movements clean and sharp. Haruto, swearing, charged beside them. Ren skipped into the carnage with her knife, laughing softly. Even Riku, despite his hatred, had no choice but to move with them.
In minutes, it was done.
The flag was theirs.
The metallic voice boomed overhead.
"Objective secured. Battalion survival rate: 24%.
Proceeding to Phase Three."
The trench shook. The ground split. The battlefield reshaped into something even darker — looming towers, barbed fences, watchtowers glowing with red light.
Aya clutched Arata desperately. "Arata-kun… this game will never end, will it?"
He stroked her hair absentmindedly, eyes fixed ahead. "Not until everyone else is gone."
Sayaka's smirk returned, her voice low. "Then it seems we're standing beside the devil himself."
Ren's laughter echoed through the smoke. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."
Riku's glare was pure hatred. Haruto's eyes were conflicted.
And Arata? He only smiled faintly, his voice calm.
"Phase Three… let's begin."