In another part of the forest were seven burly men dressed in elegant tuxedos, conversing in hushed tones as they cautiously advanced in the thick of the night. At first glance, one would assume them to be gentlemen coming from wealthy backgrounds, returning from a night at the opera, or perhaps even a charity gala. But upon closer inspection, one would find their initial judgment to be way off the mark, their hardened faces brimming with focus and their muffled footsteps despite the evident heft behind each of their muscular frames making it clear that they were no strangers to traversing in hostile terrain like the one they presently found themselves in.

The Cobalt Rose Brotherhood, as odd as a name it was for a bunch of highly skilled mercenaries, had found themselves in far more challenging situations than the present one. Specializing in assassination, each of them had a variety of skills under their belt, ranging from the use of improvised explosives to being expert marksmen. Their modus operandi was an odd one, only taking missions that involved taking out high-value targets that were a primary cause in destabilizing the local region.

A noble cause, yet they were not noble men. The only thing that united the seven was that each of them had survived in a war-torn environment, and for better or for worse, that had changed them. They had no qualms about the challenge that gridlocked posed them, nor did they had any about killing any perceived threats to their group. It was only hatred for people in positions of power, a single word of theirs that would result in the deaths of thousands, that united them.

It was this sentiment that allowed them to have a deeper trust in each other than most siblings had, and each of them would trust each other with their lives without even blinking an eye. Thus, when they saw the odd alien blue screen in front of them, they knew that this was a challenge that none of them would back out from. Yet even if one of them did, it didn't matter.

If one went, the others followed. Even if their destination was the depths of Tartarus, as long as it was for their cause, they would follow. And what better way to prevent the cycle of war, than to become God's themselves? After all, it was their own mortality that was the greatest sin. As it was presently, instead of being a thorn in the side of powers that orchestrated the wars, they were like flies, buzzing around loudly but making a little difference to the bigger picture. The ones that they really wanted to go after were beyond the capabilities of their small group, as much as they wished otherwise.

After taking three minutes to discuss among themselves, they agreed to accept the Tower of Glory's challenge and hoped that they wouldn't be separated by whatever entity that had decided to knock on their planet's doorstep. But even if they were, as long as one of them survived and went on to succeed in the end, it was an acceptable outcome.

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Thankfully, their gamble paid off and they each were presented with an option to choose a weapon. Seventh Brother looked at the screen with an expression of distaste, he had tried to input all variations of modern firearms he could, but it was to no avail. Among all the seven, his close-quarters combat skills were the weakest, which considering his nature as a long-range fighter made sense. Weakest among a group of titans did not, by any stretch of the imagination, make him weak, but using such a rudimentary form of combat was much to his distaste.

So instead, he made a decision that would leave most challengers baffled, which was akin to entrusting his life in the hands of his brothers. A spiked shield was still a weapon, though the small, poorly wrought bumps in the face of the shield hardly seemed intimidating. However, it will serve his purpose well.

As they looked around the forest of gridlocked, Seventh brother tossed his ugly shield towards Third Brother with a grin on his face. As he had expected, the buffoon still refused to let up on his love for Ancient Rome. Oh well, that shield should pair well with his gladius, and this way he didn't have to worry about his safety. Though to be honest, even if the only weapon Third Brother had was a sharpened toothbrush, the ones that should be worried were his opponents.

Seventh Brother, or simply, Schmitt examined his teammate's weapon selection and his surroundings, taking note of even the most minute of details. The terrain, the sky, the eerie lack of animal cries, or the persistent hum of insects, after which he made his conclusion.

"Gentlemen, we find ourselves in hostile territory on this fine day. For now, assume nothing, attacks can come from the ground, sky or even from within those suspiciously large trees. Stay alert at all times, and do not separate from the group. Mankind's biggest fear is that of the unknown, and for good reason. Sending a scout alone in this place can very well be a death trap. For now, we stick to protocol 5. As for this little game our benefactors have been so kind as to organize, we will play it in a manner that only we can. Prioritize my survival at all costs", said Schmitt, a glint of excitement in his eyes that was open for all to see without a hint of selfishness.

"Understood", the six brothers whispered in unison, as their eyes hardened at the bloodshed that was about to ensue. With Schmitt at the helm, it was not a matter of if, but of when. At least those who were participating had done so willingly, they had only their luck to blame for being trapped in here with them. Schmitt only cared about six other people in the world apart from himself, and as such, the mission would be completed with the minimum amount of risk to his companions. Humans, they were well versed in the art of fighting and killing, but monsters were another deal altogether.

The choice was only logical.