The dust finally settled, and Finn was gone. I’d seen this countless times before—witnessed so many dissolve into shimmering particles, torn away from the battlefield. But it never got easier. Somewhere in this hellish arena, Finn was reforming.

The regime’s rules were crystal clear: fight until you die, respawn, and fight again. This arena was a sprawling nightmare, constantly shifting with jagged landscapes and crumbling ruins, crafted to keep us on our toes, forever battling, forever breaking.

I stumbled away from the wreckage of the battlefield, each breath shallow, my body aching. The ground felt like it stretched endlessly into the void, and the distant sounds of combat echoed around me, a haunting melody. I didn’t have a destination—just a gut instinct to survive.

As I moved, the terrain shifted, sharp cliffs fading into a misty forest. The trees stood bare and twisted, their gnarled branches reaching out like claws. I stayed on high alert, my hand gripping my sword, scanning every shadow for potential threats.

Then, I saw him.

Crouched near a cluster of rocks, his back turned to me, he looked lean yet tense, like a spring pulled tight. He wasn’t scavenging; he was waiting.

I froze, tightening my grip on the sword. Here, every encounter began with suspicion, calculation, and the inevitable question: should I strike first?

He turned his head slightly, enough for me to catch the sharp glint in his eyes. “I know you’re there,” he said, his voice calm but laced with caution.

I stepped closer, keeping my weapon half-raised. “Who are you?”

“That depends,” he replied, slowly standing up. He didn’t reach for a weapon, but his posture was steady, ready for whatever came next. “Are you looking for a fight, or something else?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“That depends on you,” I countered.

He smirked, a faint expression of amusement. “Fair enough. Name’s Henry.”

“Jones,” I replied after a pause, still not lowering my sword. “What are you doing out here? You’re not exactly hiding.”

“I could ask you the same,” Henry shot back. “But I’ll guess you’re not wandering just for kicks.”

Silence hung heavy between us, charged with tension.

“You can relax,” Henry said after a moment. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t waste my breath.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds exactly like something someone planning to kill me would say.”

Henry chuckled softly, a sound that felt oddly out of place in the bleakness of the arena. “Fair point. But I’m serious—I’m not here to fight. I want to figure out how to end this.”

His words caught me off guard. “End this?” I lowered my sword a bit but stayed guarded. “You know the rules. There’s no end until one of us is left standing.”

“That’s their rule,” Henry replied, his tone hardening. “But rules can be broken.”

I examined him closely, searching for any hint of deception. He seemed genuine, but trust in this place was a dangerous game. “You really think you can break the cycle?”

“I don’t just think,” Henry said, crossing his arms. “I know. This arena was designed for control, to keep us fighting each other. But I’ve been here long enough to see the cracks in their system.”

“Cracks?” Skepticism tinged my voice.

Henry nodded. “The respawn mechanisms, the shifting terrain, even the way they monitor us—it all ties back to their machines. And machines have weaknesses. They’re not infallible.”

I hesitated, my mind racing. If he was right, if there was even a glimmer of hope to disrupt their system… “Why tell me this? What’s in it for you?”

Henry shrugged. “I can’t pull this off alone. The arena wants us to see each other as enemies. But if enough of us stop playing their game, we could change things.”

“And then what?” I asked. “Even if you manage to mess with their machines, we’re still stuck here.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But maybe not. If we can take out the respawn system, if we force them to lose their grip, who knows what could happen next? At the very least, it’ll show them we’re not just pawns in their game.”

I mulled over his words, feeling the weight of his plan pressing down on me. It felt reckless, perhaps even suicidal. But did I really have any other choice? Surviving in this arena wasn’t living; it was merely staving off the inevitable.

“All right,” I finally said. “I’m willing to hear you out. But if this turns out to be a trap…”

“It’s not,” Henry said firmly. “You’ll see.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a flicker of something other than despair. It wasn’t hope—not yet—but it was a step toward change.

Henry extended his hand cautiously, and after a moment’s hesitation, I shook it.

“Welcome to the rebellion,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I didn’t return the smile. The arena still had a grip on us, and so did the regime. But as we moved deeper into the mist together, one thing was certain: the game had just changed.