Fear spread through the group like wildfire, and even the girl who had been leading the opposition gave up questioning Tyrin. No one wanted to become a meal.
"Very well, now that we are all on the same page, I had an idea"
That same night, in the human camp, something strange was happening. A child, stripped down to his underwear, was screaming desperately for help.
Inside one of the tents, a grotesque creature grinned, its mouth smeared with dried blood and chewed human flesh. The ground around it was a macabre tapestry of carnage, a grisly work of art composed of human remains.
The creature's smile widened at the sound of the screams. It was almost ritualistic—the moment before the feast. As the gates began to creak open, it let out a guttural roar, preparing itself to welcome its next victim.
"Tyrin, I think it's working. The gate is opening," Damian said over the radio, his voice trembling.
"Hold steady, Damian. It's going to show up. It has to," Tyrin replied firmly.
Damian, the trembling, half-naked boy, shivered with fear. His mind flashed back to the moment he had lost the bet that put him in this position.
"What do you mean I lost?! Best two out of three!"
"Everyone agreed on the draw. And all you need to do is follow the plan," Cassandra had explained impatiently.
"It's easy for you to say! You're not the one out there exposed, damn it! What's the plan again?"
"Damian, calm down! The plan is simple: lure the Mimic. It's arrogant and believes it has the advantage. We need to draw it out into the open," Tyrin had said.
Now, Damian walked slowly, clutching the radio as he followed Tyrin's instructions.
"We're close by. Just keep moving," Tyrin reassured him.
The gate finally opened, and a figure stepped out. Damian froze.
"Holy shit… is that a human? But its face… Arghhh!"
What stood before him was the Mimic. Not just a deformed creature, but a predator with cruel, calculating intelligence. Its face was a grotesque parody of humanity, scarred and warped beyond recognition.
Damian tried to stay calm, but his quickening breath betrayed the battle raging inside him: fight or flight.
"Calm down, Damian. It's taken the bait," Tyrin whispered through the radio.
The decisive moment was near. The creature advanced slowly, its eyes fixed on Damian. And then, Tyrin's plan would either succeed—or they would all become the Mimic's next meal.
Damian's stomach churned as he got a closer look. What had seemed human from a distance was a horrific sight up close. The creature was wearing the skin of a person.
"That bastard… it's wearing someone's skin! Urgh!" Damian groaned into the radio.
The Mimic, still grinning with its twisted, deformed smile, waved at Damian as if inviting him to play. Its grotesque face twitched, its scarred and decayed features moving unnaturally. But something shifted in the creature's eyes—it had noticed something odd about Damian.
Even so, it was too consumed by the anticipated pleasure of its attack to care. Saliva dripped from its maw, and its body trembled with predatory hunger.
"Shit, Tyrin, it's not even pretending anymore."
"Keep going, Damian. It has to believe it's safe to strike. If you back down now, it won't follow. Be brave," Tyrin urged.
"I want my mom," Damian muttered under his breath, his voice cracking.
Three more steps. That was all it took to trigger the nightmare. The Mimic's smile contorted even further, and with a distorted motion, it lunged toward Damian. The creature moved with a horrifying blend of unnatural grace and raw savagery.
From inside the citadel, as if following a macabre conductor, forty smaller subspecies of the Mimic emerged. It was a monstrous procession, ready to join in the ultimate feast.
"Don't waste ammo on the Mimic! Its armor is too thick. Focus on the subspecies!" Tyrin shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
He had explained the plan before, but he knew that in the heat of battle, nerves could take over. Everyone needed to remember: without the element of surprise, the Mimic was still vulnerable. But the subspecies, in their numbers, were the real threat.
"Eat this, you bastard!"
"Someone toss me a weapon! One of these things is chasing me!"
The battlefield was pure chaos. Screams of terror mixed with gunfire in a cacophony of survival. For some, fear was paralyzing; for others, it was a call to action. For most of them, this was their first battle—and no one wanted it to be their last.
"Someone help Damian and keep these things away! I'll try to distract the Mimic!" Tyrin yelled.
He didn't want to be the leader, but there was no other choice. He had to draw the Mimic's attention, not out of heroism but sheer necessity.
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"Come on, you bastard. Catch me if you can!"
Tyrin discarded his weapon, knowing it would only slow him down. He relied on his agility instead. It was a risky gamble, but he knew the Mimic's primary weapon was its retractable claw.
"Alright, according to Book One, its top speed is five. By the empire, let that damn book be right."
The creature charged, revealing its grotesque form even more clearly up close. The stench of decay hit Tyrin like a physical blow, nearly making him gag. Its appearance was a horrific caricature, like a clown twisted into something nightmarish, its flesh rotting and oozing.
When the Mimic struck, its claw lashed out with blinding speed. Tyrin rolled to the right at the last moment, barely avoiding the attack. Then again. And again. It was a frantic dance between predator and prey, with Tyrin dodging by the narrowest of margins each time.
"Guys, if you could give me a hand… now would be great!"
Even with dust stinging his eyes, Tyrin refused to blink. He knew that any mistake would be fatal. Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the air, followed by a metallic shriek.
Before Tyrin could react, a spear slammed into the Mimic, pinning it to the ground—and nearly hitting him in the process.
"Cassandra, damn it! You almost killed me!"
Breathing heavily, Tyrin looked up and saw who had come to his aid.
"Thanks."
The Mimic, now impaled, thrashed violently as it struggled to free itself. Tyrin knew its heart wasn't in its chest but slightly lower.
"Someone toss me a dagger!" he yelled.
Damian, still trembling, managed to throw one. Tyrin caught it and ran toward the flailing creature.
"The heart is below the navel," he murmured to himself.
Taking advantage of the creature's vulnerability, Tyrin drove the dagger into the precise spot. The Mimic let out a horrifying scream—a mix of human and beastly voices—before collapsing in total silence.
As the creature's body fell lifeless to the ground, a cold, metallic voice echoed in Tyrin's mind.
"Congratulations. You have leveled up."
Still catching his breath, Tyrin turned to Cassandra, who smirked slightly.
"Thanks."
"It's nothing. We need to help each other if we want to get out of this alive."
"You're Cassandra, right? Nice to meet you."
"Hmm… so I had to save your life for you to notice I exist? Hahaha," she teased.
Before Tyrin could respond, Damian's voice interrupted.
"Guys, great chat and all, but… where the hell is everyone?"
Tyrin had already figured out what was happening. Dante had taught him that in this world, relying on someone else could be fatal. The outcome was always the same: betrayal.
"Those bastards used our fight as a distraction to escape to the citadel," Damian muttered, his fists clenched in frustration. "Damn it… what now?"
"Calm down, brother," Cassandra said, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. "They must've made a mistake. Let's go after them."
It didn't take long for the trio to reach the gates of the citadel, but they were locked from the inside.
"Well, well, well. I thought you'd all be dead by now, but I'm happy to see you survived! That must mean you killed that thing!"
The sarcastic voice came from Ronald, leaning out of a partially open metal window several meters above the sealed gate.
"Stop messing around, Ronald! Open the gate! The sun is setting!"
"I don't think you understand the situation." Ronald's lips curled into a mocking smile. "It's packed in here. No room for you. Unless, of course, you fight each other. Maybe then we can make space for one more."
The scorn in his voice was echoed by laughter from other children inside the citadel. It was clear this was a planned trap—even Rose seemed to have submitted to the betrayal.
"Why are you doing this? It doesn't make sense!" Damian yelled, outraged.
"Are you stupid or what?" Ronald jeered. "We're not a group, idiot. We're judged individually. What do you think will happen when that idiot behind you decides he can leave us behind? You were a fool to trust him." He pointed a finger directly at Tyrin, smirking.
"Don't you people have any honor!?" Damian spat back.
"Brother…" Cassandra interrupted softly, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder. "Let it go. We'll find another place."
"Listen to the pretty girl next to you and disappear," Ronald said with another cruel laugh. "Be the prey tonight. Hahahaha!"
With a final smirk, Ronald slammed the window shut. The heavy metal gate sealed off the group, leaving only the sound of the cutting wind across the plain.
"We're screwed…" Cassandra murmured, defeated.
"Follow me," Tyrin said, his voice devoid of emotion.
He absorbed everything with an eerie calm, turning and walking away from the citadel. The trio disappeared from sight, leaving the other children behind.
Ronald lounged in the watchtower, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
"They're gone. I thought they'd scream a bit more," he remarked, almost disappointed.
"Why didn't we kill them when we had the chance?" one of the other boys asked, prompting murmurs of agreement from the group.
"Shut up, idiots," Ronald snapped, rolling his eyes. "We can't kill each other. That's the rule. In here, we're safe—we have food, shelter. All we need to do is wait for that thing to show up. We'll kill it outside and get rid of their group in the process. Simple."
"Ronald, you're a genius!" Rose chimed in enthusiastically.
"Yeah, yeah. Now spread out. Gather all the food you can find and bring it to the watchtower. We'll wait here."
The others eagerly obeyed, scattering to carry out his orders. Now alone, Ronald allowed his darker thoughts to surface.
"Idiots… you'll all be my stepping stones to victory. I'll survive, no matter the cost."
Far from the citadel, the trio walked in silence until Damian broke the tension.
"Why the hell did we run away like cowards? This doesn't make sense!"
"Maybe he has his reasons," Cassandra said. "Tyrin, why did we leave? Aren't we exposed out here?"
"We're far enough away now," Tyrin replied calmly. "Do you know why we had to reach the citadel before nightfall?"
"Because the Belzebuth sleeps during the day?" Cassandra guessed.
"Exactly," Tyrin confirmed.
The siblings exchanged confused glances.
"What does that have to do with anything? We're not following," Cassandra said, her voice tense.
"Look around. We're on a plain. We didn't pass any place that offered shade or shelter from the sun's rays. Except for one."
"What do you mean?" Cassandra's eyes widened as she began to connect the dots. "No way…"
"It's true," Tyrin sighed. "Do you really think the entire station fell to one Mimic and forty summons? Impossible. Someone helped. And that 'someone' is still inside. Sleeping. But it won't be for much longer."
The silence that followed was broken only by the cold wind sweeping across the plain, which now seemed far more threatening.
"He's… exciting in ways that make my loins tingle! Hahahaha! What I wouldn't give to have an intelligent servant like him."
Inside a room filled with computers and screens transmitting live footage of the natural satellite, the Baron watched intently, his gaze fixed on one particular screen. On it, with unsettling clarity, three young figures moved through the desolate landscape, their actions laced with grim purpose.
"Baron, he merely exploited the obvious nature of the situation. It was clear his enemy would be inside the citadel—"
"Shut your mouth, you useless fool!" the Baron roared, his piercing gaze silencing the advisor instantly. "Do you have any idea the pressure I'm under to share my planets with those damn hyenas? We need to prove we're more than just three measly chunks of rock! Those cursed Essentials are powerful, but they're indulgent and rebellious. If those bastards weren't so strong…"
The Baron's voice trailed off, his anger simmering. His attention returned to the screen, his lips curling into a sinister grin.
"Yes… this one is different. Let's see how far you can go, boy."