Bill snapped his fingers.
"Perfect! Now that we've got our universe…"
A blackboard instantly appeared behind him.
"…let's begin my well-practiced monologue."
Everyone who had been frozen in place by the invisible force was suddenly released. Several prisoners stumbled forward and fell onto the floor.
Bill spread his arms dramatically.
"Congratulations, contestants!"
Images began projecting from his eye onto the blackboard.
"The universe you're being transmigrated into will automatically adapt your templates and cosmology to fit your physiology."
He tapped the board.
"Let me explain with something even you meat puppets can understand."
Two images appeared.
On the left: Michael Jordan.
On the right: LeBron James.
"Ever wonder what would happen if two legends existed in the same era?"
The images smashed together.
The screen changed.
Mike Tyson on one side.
Muhammad Ali on the other.
"How would they interact?"
The images slammed together again.
"And who would come out on top?"
The screen flickered again.
Now two new figures appeared.
Goku.
Superman.
Bill clasped his hands together excitedly.
"Oh, people LOVE arguing about this one."
The images collided.
Then more appeared.
Naruto and Luffy.
Batman and Iron Man.
Each pair slammed together like cards in a deck.
"Sure, watching one-on-one matchups is fun…"
Four massive categories appeared on the board:
[COMICS]
[GAMES]
[ANIME]
[TV & MOVIES]
Bill's grin widened unnaturally.
"But why limit ourselves to just one?"
All four titles smashed together violently.
Reality distorted slightly.
"Of course, throwing everything together at once would be… messy."
He tapped the board thoughtfully.
"That's exactly why I've created separate settings."
Images of worlds, battlefields, and alternate realities flashed rapidly across the screen before zooming out like crazy revealing thousands of marbles like the one the roulette table had transformed into.
"Different arenas where your favorite characters can imitate their originals…"
Bill leaned forward slightly.
"…and fight to their hearts' content."
His eye gleamed with anticipation.
"Now that is entertainment… hm,"
Bill suddenly froze mid-gesture.
His triangular body slowly tilted toward one corner of the pyramid as if staring past the walls… past the chamber… and directly into the void of space.
"I feel like the writer of my character has made me a little too sane lately," he muttered thoughtfully.
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Oh well. That's what you meatbags watching through the fourth wall wanted, right?"
His eye snapped back toward the prisoners.
"Now then, let's continue with the templates."
Among the hundreds of inmates trembling or screaming, five men remained calm.
The third man stood slightly apart from the others.
He looked to be in his thirties, lean but densely packed with muscle. His gray hair was swept backward into two jagged spikes that curved like horns.
His narrow eyes held nothing but contempt.
Not for the demon treating their lives like a game…
But for the annoying noise of the panicking prisoners.
His presence was feral.
Among the prison population he was known as one of the Four Kings.
His nickname:
The Wolf.
His territory was the eastern wing of the prison.
If not for the distance between the two wings he would have challenged Rein directly.
He fought without needing a reason.
Not hatred.
Not revenge.
Hunger.
The thrill of battle.
In the past he had intentionally provoked entire gangs just to start fights. The greater the odds, the better the rush.
A pure battle addict.
The fourth man was impossible to miss.
A towering giant in his fifties, dark-skinned with long braided hair, standing well over eight feet tall. His body looked as though someone had fed a professional bodybuilder nothing but steroids and steel.
Veins bulged across muscles thick as cables.
Crude, scale-like tattoos covered his arms and chest.
Then he burst into booming laughter.
"WORORORORORORORO!"
The sound echoed across the chamber like thunder.
"Too fragile!"
He pointed toward the crushed hallway where bodies had just been mangled.
"If they want someone to blame, they should blame themselves for being weak!"
He grinned widely at Bill.
"I welcome your challenge, triangle man! I've always wanted a vacation!"
His laughter rolled again through the chamber.
This was another of the Four Kings.
The Beast.
A tyrant who ruled his southern prison wing through brute force. He demanded food, tribute, and obedience from everyone around him.
The kind of man who would crush someone's skull simply for making eye contact.
And right now…
He was immensely drunk and entertained a flush on his face revealed his current condition.
The last of the five stood quietly at the edge of the group.
The oldest of them all.
His shoulder-length black hair was streaked with silver. His posture was upright but relaxed, like a man observing a painting in a museum.
His eyes were unreadable.
Not empty, Calculating.
He was the final member of the Four Kings.
Unlike the others, he possessed no obvious superhuman strength.
Instead, he was infamous for something else.
Schemes.
Poison.
Ambushes.
He never fought fairly.
And he always survived.
He had been in the prison since its founding.
Bill studied the five men.
His eye curved into an even wider crescent.
"How perfect."
His voice trembled with delight.
"Truly worthy members of my main cast."
He hovered slightly closer to them.
"While I may be the main antagonist…"
His grin widened.
"…you'll make delicious sub-bosses."
Five glowing banners suddenly unfurled in the air above them.
Each banner displayed a stylized, cartoonish portrait of one of the five men, complete with dramatic lighting and exaggerated poses.
Bill clapped slowly.
"Well now… your templates must be quite iconic."
He tilted his head.
"Otherwise the author wouldn't waste time describing you."
The slow clap echoed through the chamber while blood from the earlier executions continued dripping onto the stone floor like a ticking metronome.
"MMMMMMMPPHH—"
Bill blinked.
"Oh right."
He looked toward Sato.
"I forgot about this low-effort clown."
With a lazy flick of his finger, Sato's zipper mouth vanished.
Sato gasped dramatically.
"Oh thank god. I have a bone to pick with you about my pose."
Sato then pointed to his banner which had him holding up a peace sign.
"I dont make gang symbols."
Bill ignored him entirely.
"You are here for one reason."
His voice boomed unnaturally loud despite his small paper-thin body.
"Because you are all…"
He spread his arms wide.
"…the scum of the Earth."
His eye curved into a smooth, con-artist smile.
"Since you're all such horrible trash, I've decided to be merciful."
He bowed mockingly.
"To allow you to entertain both me… and the audience beyond."
The silver and black decks of cards on the table pulsed faintly with eerie light.
"So I, being the incredibly generous, humble, all-seeing god of chaos that I am, "
He pointed dramatically at the decks.
"Will grant you the power you need to fight for your freedom."
Uneasy whispers spread through the prisoners.
The cards seemed to hum softly, like they were calling to something inside them.
Bill leaned forward slightly.
"So make sure…"
His eye gleamed.
"…to put on a show."
A growl broke the silence.
The Wolf stepped forward, arms crossed.
"Call me whatever you want. Trash. Scum."
His voice cut through the room like a blade.
"I don't need your damn power."
The pressure from his presence alone made several nearby inmates instinctively step back.
"I root for the underdogs."
He stared straight at Bill.
"The ones who fight from the bottom."
"Good. Evil."
He spat the words.
"I reject them both."
For a moment, Bill went still.
"…Ah."
Something like recognition flickered in his eye.
"So that's your template."
He whispered quietly to himself.
"The Hero Hunter."
His grin slowly returned.
"How interesting."
The old man with the silver-streaked hair glanced at the others with faint amusement.
"You're being offered something men would slaughter entire nations for," he said calmly.
"Power is not will. It is the ability to make things happen."
He sighed.
"All I hear from you is the tantrum of an arrogant child."
He turned his back on them.
Completely dismissing the argument.
The Wolf snarled.
"No one asked for your opinion, Grandpa."
The old man ignored him.
Then a nervous voice spoke up.
A pale man in his late twenties stepped forward from the crowd.
His skin was unnaturally white, almost sickly. His curly black hair and delicate features gave him a strange resemblance to a certain 80s pop star.
He swallowed nervously.
"A-are we able to decline your… generous offer?"
His eyes darted toward the hallway that no longer existed.
Blood still seeped from the warped wall where it had once been.
Bill stared at him.
"…Huh."
He scratched his head.
" What a paradox, brave enough to speak,"
Then he pointed casually toward the corpses whose heads had exploded earlier.
"But asking such a cowardly question."
He shrugged.
"I suppose I'll let you live for now. We could always use a cowardly villain."
Then he smiled.
"Yes."
"You're absolutely free to refuse."
He gestured again toward the corpses.
"Why?"
"Are you planning to reject my offer?"
The pale prisoner shook his head violently.
Bill clapped his hands once.
"Great!"
"Then let's begin!"
His excitement returned instantly.
He raised his hand, enlarging it three times its normal size, with his other hand stopped to straighten his bow tie, then slammed it down onto the suddenly summoned wooden desk.
CRACK!
The desk was annihilated into dust.
The sound echoed through the chamber like the start of a race.
Immediately, the decks of cards reacted.
Cards burst upward into the air.
Five silver cards.
More than twenty one black cards.
They floated and spun gracefully through the air as though guided by invisible threads.
Their movements looked disturbingly…
alive.
They hovered, tilting slightly.
Almost as if sniffing the air.
Then they stopped.
Every card froze mid-air.
Slowly…
They turned.
And began pointing.
Each card aimed directly at a specific prisoner.
Like predators locking onto prey.
Bill spoke casually.
"This is the bonding process."
"Each card contains a duplicated soul-pattern of a character from somewhere in the multiverse."
His grin widened.
"And whichever prisoner matches the personality best…"
"…gets chosen."
A tense silence filled the chamber.
Then something unexpected happened.
The white deck, which had remained untouched, began trembling violently.
Bill noticed.
His grin faltered.
"…Huh?"
Two white cards suddenly launched into the air like streaks of light.
Sato squinted at them nervously.
"Why do these cards feel… racist?"
Rein felt something similar.
A sensation of being judged.
As if the cards were evaluating him, and finding him… contemptible.
The white cards shot forward with terrifying speed, slicing through the air above the prisoners.
Even Bill looked confused now.
His eye narrowed.
He didn't finish.
The moment the white cards launched—
Every single card in the chamber exploded into motion.
Black.
Silver.
White.
They shot through the air toward their chosen hosts.
The prisoners panicked.
Several flinched away, others screamed and tried to dodge. One man even grabbed another prisoner and held him up like a human shield while the unfortunate victim cursed at him in terror.
It didn't matter.
The cards passed through bodies, walls, and obstacles like ghosts.
Nothing could stop them.
One by one they struck their targets directly over the heart.
FWOOM.
Light erupted from each prisoner.
Some glowed faintly.
Others ignited like living torches.
Black and silver flames burst from inside their bodies as the cards sank into their chests.
The Wolf.
The Beast.
The Old Man.
None of them resisted.
They simply watched the supernatural phenomenon approach them with cold curiosity. After all, what could they possibly do against something like this?