Aerovind's hand tightened on his sword hilt, memories of their last encounter searing through his mind. Zonarc's whispered threat echoed in his ears:

Oh, and yellow eyes? You might want to keep a closer eye on that little one. Beelzebub has been... restless lately.

Forcing his features into a mask of joy, Aerovind turned to his companions. "Well, gentlemen," he said, his voice light despite the tension thrumming through his body, "it seems we have some catching up to do."

Zellrid's gaze could have frozen hellfire. "We're not friends, Aerovind. Your actions today made that abundantly clear."

Aerovind's smirk faltered for a heartbeat before reasserting itself. "Come now, Zellrid. We're all pawns in this game. Surely you can't fault a man for playing to win?"

"There are lines, Aerovind," Zellrid growled. "Lines that separate men from monsters. You didn't just cross them – you obliterated them."

Aerovind's smile vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine hurt. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Zellrid and Ordeon alone on the hilltop.

Ordeon watched Aerovind go, his expression troubled. "He's not wrong about one thing," the big man rumbled. "United we stand, divided we fall."

Zellrid grunted, his eye fixed on the distant horizon. "At what cost, Ordeon? When does survival become a curse rather than a blessing?"

As they stood in contemplative silence, Zellrid's hand absently moved to his hair. To his surprise, he found the white streak had grown, now encompassing most of his once-dark locks. A chill ran down his spine as he realized what it meant.

Ordeon noticed the change but remained silent, his own memories of similar transformations of zellrid run into his mind.

After a moment, Zellrid exhaled heavily. "We need to review the rules again," he said. "And figure out how to acquire better equipment. We can't hope to survive long in our current state."

Ordeon nodded in agreement. "Aerovind mentioned something about that. Said the information was accessible through your wrist device."

Together, they made their way down the hill, towards where Aerovind sat brooding by the embers of a dying fire. As they approached, his trademark smirk reappeared, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"Ah, my biggest hater's return," he grunted. "Come to spit more venom on me?"

Ignoring the jab, Zellrid held out his wrist. The device sprang to life, projecting a holographic list of rules and information. They huddled around, poring over the details.

The Purging Games: Rules …

Welcome to the Games!

The Basics:

* Survival: This is a fight to the death. Killing your opponent is necessary.

* Limited Loadout: You choose one monster companion and one weapon at the start. No switching weapons or adding monsters mid-game.

* Teaming Up: Teams are allowed (max 3 players). However, betrayal is encouraged.

Daily Grind: You need to collect points every day. Failure to meet the minimum score disqualifies you.

* The Arena: The game environment changes after a certain number of deaths. The player with the most kills gets to influence the next terrain (by sacrificing two fingers from the same hand).

Combat & Conduct:

* Drawn-Out Demise: Leaving someone to bleed out without finishing them off earns a penalty.

* No Instant Wins: Killing in one blow is forbidden (brutal efficiency is discouraged).

* Stealth is Frowned Upon: Hiding and waiting isn't an option. Be aggressive!

* Respect the Arena: Wilful destruction of game property results in a penalty.

* Obey or Perish: Fighting back against a penalty is an instant death sentence (for you and your team).

* Mercy is Weakness: Letting anyone die slowly (enemy or ally) is forbidden.

* Body Mutilation is Taboo: Don't desecrate the dead (respect the fallen, kind of).

Additional Notes:

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

* Pain is Eternal: Expect amplified pain throughout the games.

* Food & Drinks: None allowed. You're on your own.

* The Game Master is Supreme: Rules can be changed or added at any time.

Remember: Survival is paramount. Fight, adapt, and remember... kill yourself.

Good luck, Player.

As they reached the end of the list, a new piece of information caught their attention:

Gear Acquisition: Reach 5,000 points to unlock new equipment. Current team score: 4,999.

Aerovind let out a low whistle. "Well, isn't that one of God's best jokes? One measly point away from some much-needed upgrades."

Zellrid's eye narrowed. "Too convenient. This game is toying with us, like a cat with a mouse."

Ordeon nodded grimly. "Agreed. But we can't afford to pass up the opportunity. What's our next move?"

A tense silence fell over the group as they contemplated their options.

Finally, Zellrid spoke, his voice heavy with resolve. "We find that last point. But we do it smart, and we do it clean. No more unnecessary bloodshed."

Aerovind opened his mouth as if to protest, but a look from Ordeon silenced him. He shrugged, his trademark smirk sliding back into place. "As you wish, oh silver-haired strategist. Though I must say, the new look does lend you a certain... grandpa energy…."

Zellrid ran a hand through his now silver-streaked hair, his lone eye narrowing in thought. His voice, rough and weary, cut through the silence. "We need to decide our next move," he growled, the words heavy with fatigue. "And quickly."

Aerovind leaned against a twisted, gnarled tree, "oh? And here I was hoping we could take a lovely seaside holiday. Build some sandcastles, work on our tans."

Ordeon shot him a stern look. "This is no time for jokes, Aerovind."

"Who’s joking?" Aerovind retorted, his smirk unfaltering. "I hear the beaches of Nivana are particularly lovely this time of year. Blood-soaked and all."

Zellrid ignored their banter, his mind working through the endless possibilities. "We can’t go anywhere with our current gear," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There are other Nightstalkers out there, better equipped, better prepared. Rushing in now would be suicide."

Aerovind's eyes gleamed dangerously. "Speak for yourself, old man. I’ve got my blade, and that’s all I need." He paused, a sly grin creeping across his face. "But I do have a suggestion. How about we split up? Ordeon and you can play it safe while I... pursue more lucrative opportunities."

Zellrid’s gaze sharpened. "You mean Zonarc. In the kingdom."

"Give the man a prize," Aerovind drawled.

"It’s a fool’s errand," Zellrid growled, his voice edged with warning. "You’ve seen his score, Aerovind. He’s leagues beyond us."

Aerovind’s casual demeanor slipped, revealing a flash of something more sinster. "You don’t know me as well as you think, Zellrid. Up until now, I’ve been... holding back. Scared of hurting you lot." His voice softened, a rare vulnerability creeping in. "Scared of hurting Ela, before sh... before I entered the games."

A heavy silence fell over the group at the mention of Aerovind’s daughter. Ordeon shifted uncomfortably, while Zellrid’s expression softened, just a touch.

After a long moment, Zellrid spoke, his voice rough but not unkind. "Do you trust me, Aerovind?"

Aerovind met his gaze, his usual smirk replaced by a hard, honest look. "No," he said simply. "I don’t trust anyone but myself. But..." He hesitated, the truth weighing on him. "I do like you. Both of you. As much as one can like someone in this damned game."

Zellrid nodded, accepting the reality. "Just trust me in this, if nothing else. Going after Zonarc now is walking into a trap. We need to be smarter."

Ordeon, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "What do you propose, Zellrid?"

Zellrid’s eye gleamed with a hint of something fierce. "The island. There’s a fragment here, one that could help us get home. Scattered across the worlds, but I’d bet my remaining eye that one of the weaker Nightstalkers here has it. Easy point. Easy kill."

Aerovind raised an eyebrow. "And since when did you become so bloodthirsty, Zellrid?"

Zellrid’s face hardened, his tone cold. "I don’t enjoy it. But if it’s between us and them... I choose us."

Ordeon nodded, his massive form tense with resolve. "It’s the best course of action, Aerovind. We gear up, we get stronger, then we face Zonarc on our terms."

Aerovind sighed, but the tension in his shoulders eased. "Fine, fine. You’ve convinced me. Though I must say, Zellrid, this ruthless streak suits you."

Zellrid ignored the jab. "Then it’s settled. We build a base, gather resources, and prepare for the kill."

As they made their way down the hill, Aerovind’s voice drifted back. "I don’t suppose our new home will have indoor plumbing? A man has needs, you know."

Ordeon’s exasperated groan was the only response.

The next three days were a blur of activity. They chose a secluded spot near the edge of the forest, offering both cover and a clear view of the surrounding area. Zellrid took charge of the planning, his tactical mind a valuable asset.

As they worked on digging graves for the fallen natives, a heated argument erupted between Zellrid and Aerovind.

"We should burn them," Aerovind insisted, wrinkling his nose at the stench. "It’s faster, and frankly, less nauseating."

Zellrid’s eye flashed with anger. "These people deserve better than to be reduced to ash. It’s the least we can do after... after what we did."