Things went south about five days into the new stage.
The island was nothing like the first. Where the initial environment rewarded preparation and patience, this one punished hesitation. The terrain shifted constantly. Dense forests gave way to jagged cliffs, marshlands hid beneath thin layers of grass, and rivers cut through the land with violent force. The system did not want survivors. It wanted results.
The group had been doing well at first.
They took down multiple members from other realities, coordinated strikes supported by Matthew's ability and reinforced weapons improved by Paolo's Tech Upgrade. Spears struck deeper. Blades held their edges longer. Even crude armor resisted blows that should have shattered bone.
On paper, they were strong.
In reality, the second stage was far too crowded.
Encounters happened daily. Sometimes hourly. Groups clashed not because they wanted to, but because the land forced them together. Narrow valleys. Limited fresh water. High ground that everyone wanted but few could hold.
Matthew's skills were effective. He empowered allies through mana, reinforcing their bodies, sharpening reflexes, pushing endurance beyond natural limits. Paolo worked tirelessly to maintain and improve their equipment whenever they could rest.
They should have had a much better chance at survival.
But numbers mattered.
And numbers were not on their side.
The warning signs appeared gradually. Distant roars that echoed through the landscape. Tremors beneath their feet. The remains of creatures too large to be animals, torn apart by something stronger.
Then they saw the horde.
It came over a ridge like a living tide. Dozens of creatures poured into view, some humanoid, others twisted shapes that defied easy classification. Thick hides. Multiple limbs. Natural weapons grown into their bodies. Floating identifiers glowed red above nearly every head.
It was not just participants from other realms.
The system itself had spawned monsters.
Matthew saw it first.
He felt the calculation happen before he admitted it to himself. Distances. Escape routes. The slowing weight of responsibility. His ability could empower people, but it had limits. Mana drained fast when used on multiple targets. Against a horde like that, empowerment would only delay the inevitable.
Matthew chose self preservation.
He did not shout. He did not warn the others.
He turned and ran.
The group realized what was happening seconds too late.
The monsters hit them hard. One of the members was crushed under a charging beast before they could react. Another was dragged screaming into the mass. Paolo fought desperately, hammer glowing faintly as mana surged through it, every strike reinforced by his skill and his will.
But it was not enough.
Seeing his fellow locals fall, Paolo made a decision.
He sprinted toward the river.
The water roared, swollen and violent, fed by rain and terrain far upstream. Jumping meant broken bones or drowning. Staying meant death.
"At the very least, I'll have a chance of surviving here," Paolo said.
He did not look back.
Paolo leapt.
The river swallowed him whole.
The current tore at his body, slamming him against rocks, spinning him violently. Pain flared, then dulled. He fought to keep his head above water, lungs burning, limbs numb from impact. His pack was ripped away. Tools vanished into the depths.
But the river carried him far from the battlefield.
Far from the betrayal.
Matthew ran as fast as he could.
He did not stop until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out. Even then, he pushed himself harder. The enemies he encountered from Reality 43305 were large four armed humanoids, towering over humans with raw strength that no normal person could keep up with.
He avoided them by inches.
One caught him with a glancing blow that sent him tumbling. Another hurled debris that shattered stone near his head. Matthew screamed as an arrow struck his arm, pain exploding through his shoulder.
He kept running.
The fact that he left his fellow man behind weighed on him heavily. The knowledge that the rest of humanity was watching made it worse. Somewhere, people were seeing him flee while others died.
"Fuck… fuck. No," Matthew gasped.
His focus stayed on survival.
There was no point in warning the others. They needed to act as bait if he wanted to live. That thought repeated in his mind until it stopped sounding wrong.
And so he lived.
Matthew collapsed hours later, hidden among broken terrain, bleeding and shaking. His equipment was battered, cracked, bloodied.
All of it enhanced by Paolo.
"I won't forget you guys," Matthew whispered, staring at his trembling hands. "I'll live on in your name."
The words felt hollow, but he said them anyway.
The second round was hell.
Across the newer islands, far more powerful members of other races were present. Beings whose physical abilities dwarfed humans, whose natural talents replaced years of training. Humans from Paolo's reality were outclassed in strength, speed, and resilience.
Skill and preparation could only bridge the gap so much.
Among those who entered, only the larger groups, the extremely gifted, or the luckiest would survive.
Somewhere far downstream, battered and bruised, Paolo dragged himself onto a riverbank, coughing water from his lungs.
The landscape around him was unfamiliar.
But he was alive.
And the tournament was far from over.