The crowd shuffled forward, a mass of trembling bodies.

I scanned their faces, each one etched with fear and dread.

It was intoxicating, and I couldn't help but let a slight grin spread across my face.

But I had no time to waste; the game had to begin.

"You two," I said, pointing at a pair of men who stood out from the rest.

Their eyes widened in terror, and they hesitated for a moment before nervously stepping forward.

"Do you two know each other?" I asked, my tone casual, though I hardly cared about their answer.

"No. I've seen him sometimes, but I don't really know him," one of them stammered, his voice shaky.

The other man nodded in agreement, too afraid to speak.

"Good," I said, my smile widening.

"That makes this more interesting."

I could see the confusion and fear in their eyes, and it thrilled me.

The rest of the crowd watched in horrified silence, their breaths held, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Let's start the game. Here."

I threw the knife onto the ground between them, its blade gleaming under the streetlights.

They both stared at it, then back at me, confusion etched across their faces.

"What are you waiting for? Grab it and fight. Whoever wins, I will let you go," I said, the lie slipping easily from my lips.

"What!?" they exclaimed in unison, their shock palpable.

"Don't waste my time," I snarled, my eyes narrowing into a menacing glare.

"But... I..." one of them stammered, his voice trembling with fear.

The other man, sensing the urgency and desperation of the situation, lunged for the knife.

His fingers closed around the hilt, and he swung it wildly at his opponent.

The first man barely managed to dodge, stumbling backward, his eyes wide with terror.

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"Fight, damn you!" I shouted, my voice ringing with impatience and sadistic delight.

The man with the knife advanced again, slashing frantically.

His movements were clumsy, driven more by fear than skill.

The other man, realizing the imminent danger, scrambled to defend himself, his hands raised in a futile attempt to ward off the blade.

The crowd watched in horrified silence, their breaths held, their eyes glued to the brutal scene happening in front of them.

He stood there, trembling, the knife still in his hand.

His eyes were wide with shock, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the other man bleeding on the ground.

"I'm sorry. But I don't want to die here," he choked out between sobs.

The man on the ground gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with a mix of fear and determination. With a surge of strength, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another desperate swipe of the knife.

"I also don't want to die!" he screamed, launching himself at his attacker.

He swung his fist with all his might, connecting with the other man's jaw.

The knife slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground and skidding away.

They both lunged for it, scrabbling and wrestling in the dirt, each man desperate to seize the weapon.

Their faces were contorted with fear and desperation, their bodies driven by the primal instinct to survive.

I watched them, my expression cold and detached.

Then I glanced towards the crowd.

Their faces were masks of horror and helplessness, eyes wide, mouths agape.

They stood frozen, too scared to intervene, too captivated by the horror to look away.

'Pathetic.'

The word echoed in my mind, a silent judgment.

These were the people who had ignored my suffering, who had turned a blind eye to the injustices that had destroyed my life.

Now, they were forced to confront the brutal reality they had chosen to ignore.

The men continued to struggle, grunting and panting, their movements growing more frantic by the second.

Blood smeared the ground beneath them, mingling with the dirt.

The knife gleamed ominously, a symbol of their desperation and my twisted sense of justice.

The crowd remained passive, their fear paralyzing them.

They watched the violence unfold, their hearts pounding, breaths quickening.

Some clung to each other, seeking comfort in the presence of another warm body.

Others stood alone, eyes wide with shock and dread.

They all stood there, paralyzed by fear, each person gripped by the same desperate thought: who would be next?

Silent prayers hung in the air, each hoping the cruel spotlight wouldn't fall on them.

Before them, two complete strangers were locked in a deadly struggle.

Humanity, kindness, luxury—these virtues had been stripped away, revealing the raw, primal instinct for survival.

The words that once held meaning in the civilized world now felt hollow and meaningless.

I had long ago realized that when it came to their own lives, these people, this society, wouldn’t hesitate to kill others.

Here was the proof of my correctness.

The struggle continued, the sounds of grunts and desperate breaths filling the tense silence.

The first man, driven by sheer will, managed to wrest the knife from his opponent.

With a final, desperate thrust, he plunged the blade into the other man’s chest.

The defeated man let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with shock and pain before his body went limp.

The victor stood over him, the knife still in his hand, his chest heaving with exertion.

Blood smeared his clothes, his face.

He stared at the lifeless body, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"I... I killed him," he muttered, his voice a broken whisper.

His hands trembled, the knife slipping from his grasp to clatter on the ground.

The crowd watched, their faces pale with horror, their breaths held in a collective gasp.

They saw the truth I had known all along: stripped of their comforts, their morals, these people were capable of anything.

The man’s muttering grew louder, more frantic.

He looked around, seeking some kind of solace, some form of absolution, but found only their horrified gazes.

He fell to his knees, his body shaking with sobs, the reality of his actions crashing down upon him.

I watched with a cold detachment, my smile widening.

I ignored his condition and offered a twisted smile.

"Congrats on winning!"

Suddenly, he lunged at me, desperation and madness driving his actions.

But he had made the wrong choice.

With a flick of my wrist, his body was suspended mid-air, frozen in his futile attempt to attack.

"Wrong choice," I said coldly. With a snap of my fingers, his body began to contort and compress.

Blood sprayed from his mouth, his flesh tearing and bones cracking under the invisible pressure.

The sounds were sickening, a macabre symphony of pain and destruction.

His body crumpled to the ground, a broken, bleeding heap.

He was still alive, barely clinging to life, his eyes wide with horror and agony.

I turned my gaze to the crowd, their fear now palpable, their faces ashen.

They trembled, understanding that there was no mercy to be found here.

"So, who's next?" I asked, my voice icy and menacing.

The crowd recoiled, gasps and cries filling the air.

Their fear was intoxicating, a testament to the lesson I was teaching.

They were finally understanding the true nature of power, the reality of the world they lived in.

There were no illusions left, no pretense of safety or morality.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of their own fragility