Arthur's sneakers whispered against the pristine sidewalks as he approached the city center, the arena looming ahead like a monument to some forgotten battle. His legs felt like lead, his stomach churning with a potent mixture of dread and anticipation. The beacon of light that pierced the sky led him to this place—the football stadium.

As he neared the gates, the familiarity of the structure only heightened his sense of unease. This was where he and Brian had spent countless Saturdays, cheering for their team, dreaming of better days. Now, it stood as a silent sentinel in this new, twisted reality.

The once-bustling arena was hollow, lifeless. The air hung heavy with the staleness of an abandoned world. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, every footstep echoing off the concrete, mocking his solitude. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into a trap, but what choice did he have?

The gates swung open as he reached them, a silent invitation that sent a shiver down his spine. Arthur paused, his breath catching in his throat. This can't be real. I don't belong here. But the Game had other ideas, and Arthur knew he had to play along if he wanted any chance of finding Brian.

Stepping inside, Arthur was greeted by a vast expanse of empty seats. The field, once a battleground for sport, now felt like a graveyard. The grass, impossibly green, stretched out before him, untouched by the devastation outside. He glanced around, his eyes searching for any sign of life, any hint of hope. There was none.

A message flickered into view: "First Challenge: Prepare for combat."

Arthur's pulse quickened, his palms growing sweaty. Combat? I'm just a janitor. What the hell am I supposed to do here? He thought of the mop he'd left behind, wishing for its familiar weight in his hands. At least then he'd have something, anything, to defend himself with.

The scoreboard flickered to life above him, its bold message sending a chill down his spine: "Welcome, Arthur. Prepare for the first stage: Prowling Tigers."

Before he could process what that meant, the field began to shift beneath his feet. Marble platforms emerged from the ground like the petals of some monstrous flower. The once-familiar football field was transforming into an arena straight out of ancient Rome. The grass beneath him gave way to hardened dirt, and the scent of earth and steel filled the air.

Arthur stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to get out. This isn't real. This has to be some kind of nightmare. But there was no escape. The gates had closed behind him, locking him in. All around him, racks of weapons emerged from the arena floor, gleaming under the light of day. Swords, spears, shields—tools of war for a man who had never lifted a weapon in his life.

His eyes darted toward the scoreboard as it flickered once more: "Players will be teleported in shortly. Prepare to engage."

His stomach twisted. Players? Who—?

A soft pop behind made him whirl around. A young woman with spiky hair stood there, her expression grim, a sword already in her hand. She looked like she belonged here, like she had done this before. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Arthur saw a flicker of recognition in hers—the look of someone who understood the gravity of their situation.

Before he could react, more players materialized: a burly man with an axe, a wiry teen with a bow, and nine others. Some of them wore the same look of grim determination, others had terror inscribed on their faces. Arthur felt a pang of empathy for those who looked as lost as he felt.

Arthur felt out of place, his only weapon the memory of a mop handle clutched tight in his trembling hands. I'm going to die here, he thought, but then Brian's face flashed in his mind. No. I have to survive. For Brian.

The scoreboard flickered one last time: "The arena is now active. Begin."

The transformation of the stadium was complete. The walls loomed higher, taking on the shape of an ancient Colosseum. The racks of weapons glistened, casting cold reflections across the battlefield. Arthur's breath quickened as two massive tigers bounded into the arena, their eyes wild with hunger.

The players scattered, each grabbing weapons, their faces set in grim resolve. Arthur hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest as he made his way to the weapon racks. His hands hovered over the blades and shields. I don't want to hurt anyone. But survival didn't give him a choice. Not here. Not now.

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He grabbed a spear, its weight unfamiliar in his hands. His mind screamed at him to run, but his feet refused to move. I can't fight. I don't know how to fight. But he had to try. For Brian.

The tigers roared, and the battle began.

The young woman moved first, her sword flashing in the sunlight as she dashed forward. The burly man followed, his axe gleaming as he bellowed a battle cry. Arthur watched, frozen, as the others joined the fray, each one fighting for their lives.

But Arthur couldn't move. His hands trembled as he gripped the spear tighter, his legs rooted to the spot. I don't belong here. I can't do this. The first tiger lunged, and the teen's arrow found its mark, burying itself in the creature's eye. It let out a bloodcurdling roar, swiping at the air in pain. The distraction gave Arthur a brief moment to act, his body moving before his mind could catch up.

He ran.

His feet pounded against the dirt as he dashed toward the nearest pedestal, the blue glow of a powerup calling to him. He could barely think, barely breathe. Get to the powerup. Get to safety. As his hand touched the orb, a cold barrier enveloped him, the translucent blue shield offering some semblance of protection. The scoreboard blinked above him: "Ice Shield activated."

The ground trembled beneath him as the burly man's axe found its mark in the second tiger, its massive body collapsing to the ground with a final, guttural growl. Arthur's heart raced as he looked around the battlefield. Blood stained the dirt, and four players were already gone, their bodies reduced to pixels, erased from existence.

Arthur felt sick, but he forced himself to focus. This is a game, he reminded himself. They're not really dead. They can't be. The thought provided little comfort as he watched the remaining players continue their brutal dance of survival.

The game's voice echoed across the arena. "End of first stage. Six players remain."

Arthur's breath came in shallow gasps as he backed toward the edge of the arena. His Ice Shield flickered out, leaving him exposed. The scoreboard flickered again, announcing the second stage: "Chariot's Fury."

The arena's metal gates groaned as they opened, and two chariots rolled in from hidden tunnels beneath the stadium. Roman soldiers stood at their helms, spears in hand, their bronze chestplates glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Their horses were monstrous beasts, larger than any Arthur had ever seen, their hooves thundering against the earth as they charged forward.

The teen wasn't fast enough. One of the chariots bore down on him, its wheels catching him mid-dodge. Arthur watched in horror as the boy crumpled to the ground, his body crushed beneath the horse's hooves. Arthur's stomach lurched. I have to move. I have to survive.

He dashed across the arena, weaving between the remaining players as the chariots pursued them. His heart raced, his mind a blur of panic and instinct. A green powerup glinted in the distance—Invisibility—and Arthur knew it was his only chance. His Ice Shield powerup was on the verge of expiring. Without it, he was vulnerable—a sitting duck.

He leaped onto a pedestal, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a chariot's spear as he reached for the powerup. The moment his hand touched the orb, his body vanished from sight. He didn't have time to think—he just ran.

The chaos of the battle faded as Arthur's body moved through the arena, unseen. He watched as the woman with spiky hair danced around the chariots, her sword flashing as she fought with deadly precision. She was incredible, a whirlwind of skill and determination, but even she couldn't outrun the Game's brutality forever.

Arthur's heart sank as another player fell to the ground, struck by the axe of another gladiator. Two more gladiators engaged in brutal combat as the chariots thundered on. The burly man locked eyes with the Roman soldier who had leapt from his broken chariot, the two of them circling one another. With a roar, the man charged, his axe swinging wildly, but the Roman soldier was quicker, more disciplined.

The second chariot barrelled toward the woman. Arthur, still invisible, saw his opportunity. He dashed toward the horses, leaping onto the back of one of the beasts. His body moved instinctively as he grappled with the reins, pulling them hard and veering the chariot off course.

As the Roman soldier struggled to regain control, Arthur activated the Trap powerup nearby. Vines shot from the ground, ensnaring the horses and the charioteer, bringing the vehicle to a grinding halt. Arthur watched helplessly as the gladiator's spear found its mark, impaling the burly man through the chest. The man let out a pained grunt before collapsing to the ground, his body dissolving into pixels, just like the others.

"Second stage complete. Two players remain."

The voice boomed across the arena as Arthur's invisibility wore off. He found himself face to face with the young woman, both of them panting, covered in dirt and sweat. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with determination.

"I didn't think you'd make it this far," she said, her voice a mixture of respect and wariness.

Arthur gripped his spear tightly, his heart pounding. "Neither did I," he admitted. “But I had to.”

"We all have our reasons," she said. "But only one of us can win.” After a prolonged pause, she muttered, “I’m Luna.”

“I’m Arthur.”

As they stood there, sizing each other up, the arena began to change once more. The ground rumbled, and the air crackled with energy. Arthur knew that whatever came next would determine everything.

The final stage was about to begin.