Something buzzed past his ear.

  Nigel stopped.

  His muscles tensed as he slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing at something nearly invisible—a thin, taut wire stretching from one of the twisted metal sculptures into a side street.

  A trap.

  His gaze flicked across the plaza, scanning the surroundings.

  More wires. Dozens of them.

  They wove through the square, threading between buildings, lacing through alleyways, some so thin they were nearly undetectable in the dim light.

  A bad place to fight.

  Carefully, he moved forward, stepping over the wires, keeping his senses sharp. Every movement was calculated, every step deliberate—

  "You should find a team."

  Nigel spun instantly, his grip tightening around the Reaper.

  At the edge of the plaza, leaning against one of the twisted sculptures, stood a familiar figure.

  Amelie.

  Her arms were crossed, her usual unreadable expression in place as she watched him with cool detachment.

  Nigel narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here? Are you a participant?"

  "Not exactly." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her tone casual. "But that’s not important. What’s important is that things are going to get… messy."

  His grip on his weapon tightened. "And why are you telling me this?"

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she simply gestured to his right.

  "Go that way. You’ll find potential teammates. Form a group before nightfall."

  Nigel hesitated.

  Then, just like that, Amelie disappeared behind one of the sculptures.

  His jaw clenched.

  Every instinct screamed at him not to trust her. But if what she said was true…

  He didn’t have much of a choice.

  Letting out a slow breath, Nigel turned and started walking.

  The further he went, the darker the streets became.

  The towering buildings loomed overhead, packed so tightly together that sunlight barely reached the ground. Long, twisted shadows stretched across the pavement, swallowing entire sections of the path in an eerie twilight.

  The city felt different here.

  Wrong.

  His entire body was on edge, every nerve primed for an unseen threat.

  Something wasn’t right.

  His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to run, but there was no other path forward.

  Moving carefully, he slipped behind a large dumpster, keeping low, using it as cover.

  His fingers hovered over the Reaper.

  He wasn’t alone

  Someone was here. Close.

  He could feel it—the weight of unseen eyes locked onto him, pressing against the back of his skull like a persistent itch. His muscles tensed, every instinct primed for an attack—

  "Want to team up?"

  The voice came directly in front of him.

  Nigel’s heart nearly exploded out of his chest.

  Without thinking, he swung.

  His fist collided with flesh, the impact solid and brutal.

  The person dropped instantly, crumpling to the pavement with a dull thud.

  Nigel stood frozen, breath heavy, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  What the hell—?

  Then, as he got a better look at the unconscious body, recognition clicked.

  Blond hair. Bowl cut. Oversized glasses.

  The same scrawny guy who had bumped into him at the armory.

  Nigel exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Just great.

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  A groan broke the silence.

  The boy stirred weakly, hands fumbling to adjust his crooked glasses. "Wh… what happened?"

  Nigel crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You jumped out at me. I punched you. You passed out."

  The boy sat up slowly, rubbing his nose. "Oh… yeah. That’s on me."

  He sniffled, blinking through watery eyes. "How long was I out?"

  "Ten minutes."

  Nigel reached into his inventory, pulled out a handkerchief, and tossed it toward him.

  The boy caught it clumsily, dabbing at his nose. "Damn. Well, thanks for not killing me."

  Another sniffle. He adjusted his glasses with a sheepish grin.

  "Guess I should introduce myself—William. William Stoneswood."

  Nigel stared at him, unimpressed.

  William let out an awkward chuckle. "Sooo… funny story. I was kinda watching you."

  Nigel’s expression darkened instantly. "Excuse me?"

  William shot his hands up in surrender. "Wait, wait, I know how that sounds! Let me explain!"

  Dusting himself off, he stood. "I have this skill. I can blend into my surroundings. It’s sort of like turning invisible."

  He hesitated.

  "And, uh… I may have been watching you since your first fight."

  Nigel’s jaw tightened.

  This kid had been following him since the beginning?

  William cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly. “And, well… I thought maybe you’d want to form a team?”

  Nigel’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I won’t just kill you when you least expect it?”

  William froze.

  The silence stretched.

  Then—he let out a nervous laugh, forced and paper-thin.

  “Uh… because I’m a really fun guy?”

  “Fine. I’ll team up with you.”

  William’s face lit up instantly.

  “But,” Nigel continued, voice flat, “on one condition.”

  The enthusiasm flickered. “What condition?”

  “Tell me your abilities.”

  William hesitated for only a second before answering. “My main skill is the one I already told you about. I can blend into my surroundings—good for spying, not much else.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m… pretty bad at fighting. And I don’t have any other skills.”

  He adjusted his glasses, then looked up. “What about you?”

  Nigel studied him carefully before responding.

  William barely stood one-sixty-five centimeters tall, thin, frail-looking, with that strange bowl-cut that made him seem younger than he should. But the Tournament only allowed participants eighteen and older, which meant he had to be close to Nigel’s age.

  Finally, Nigel answered. “I specialize in close combat and firearms. That’s about it.”

  It was half a lie.

  There was no way in hell he was going to reveal the full truth about his abilities. Not yet. He needed William to believe their exchange of information had been fair.

  Besides, he was sure he wasn’t the only one hiding things too.

  William frowned slightly but didn’t push further. “Alright… well, we still need forty-nine more Diamantines. I hate to say it, but our best bet is for me to scout for potential targets and for you to take them down.”

  His voice carried clear reluctance.

  “You don’t like the idea of killing,” Nigel observed.

  William sighed. “No, I don’t. But what other choice do we have?”

  Nigel didn’t answer.

  Instead, he said, “We should find at least one or two more people to join us. Once night falls, things are going to get violent.”

  William’s eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know?”

  Nigel met his gaze evenly. “Call it instinct.”

  William looked skeptical but nodded anyway.

  "Then we should get moving."

  Without another word, they set off, following the direction Amelie had pointed them toward.

  After several minutes of walking, they emerged into another open plaza—similar to the one Nigel had seen earlier, with the same twisted metallic structures shaped like animals. Their warped limbs stretched in unnatural angles, their hollow eyes fixed on something unseen.

  But this time, the air felt different.

  Nigel stepped forward—

  And William vanished.

  His body tensed instantly. His instincts screamed at him.

  "William?"

  A whisper brushed against his ear.

  "Don’t move. The entire section is one giant trap."

  Nigel went still, muscles coiling like a spring.

  "What…?" he murmured under his breath.

  William’s voice remained low but clear. "I can also transmit my voice through any surface. Doesn’t matter where someone is, as long as I know their position."

  Nigel’s eyes narrowed. So he had another skill after all.

  "But this isn’t the time for explanations," William added quickly. "There are four people hiding behind the dumpsters at the far end of the plaza. Two in each."

  Nigel’s jaw tightened. "Where are you?"

  "Standing a few meters from them. And… I can feel it. An insane amount of bloodlust."

  His grip on the Reaper tightened.

  Killers.

  Not just participants looking to survive—hunters, waiting for easy prey.

  "Yeah," William whispered. "I’d bet anything they’re waiting for nightfall to start slaughtering as many people as possible."

  Nigel exhaled sharply. "What kind of trap is this?"

  "I think it’s a vacuum trap—a field that activates when you step inside and suffocates you to death."

  Nigel clicked his tongue. That could be a problem.

  A moment passed as he studied the plaza, considering his options.

  “I’ve got a plan,” Nigel said. “But I’ll need your help.”

  William narrowed his eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “The dumpsters are just on the edge of the trap zone. I’ll circle around and get into position. Once I’m set, you’ll draw their attention—make yourself look like easy prey. While they’re distracted, I’ll shove the dumpsters fully into the trap and lock the lids. Let their own ambush finish them off.”

  Silence hung for a beat.

  “That’s... brutal,” William muttered.

  “It’s efficient.”

  Another pause. Then, a long, resigned exhale.

  "Alright. I’ll distract them."

  Nigel crouched low a few meters behind the dumpsters, muscles coiled, body ready to strike.

  His pulse was steady. His breathing controlled.

  One chance. That was all he’d get.

  William cleared his throat before stepping forward, deliberately making himself visible.

  "Uh, hello?" His voice carried the perfect balance of hesitation and desperation. "Is anyone there? I need help!"

  Silence.

  Then—movement.

  The lids of both dumpsters creaked open slightly, just enough for the figures inside to peer out.

  Nigel didn’t need to see their faces to know their intent.

  Predators.

  Their voices came soft, coaxing, dripping with false concern.

  "Hey, kid. You okay?"

  "You lost? You alone?"

  Nigel heard the edge beneath their words—the hunger.

  William hesitated, just long enough to make it believable.

  "I… I think I’m being followed," he stammered. "I don’t know where to go."

  One of them smiled—Nigel could hear it in their voice.

  "C’mon over here, buddy. We’ll keep you safe."

  William took a hesitant half-step forward.

  Nigel moved.

  In an instant, he slammed both lids shut.

  The moment they tried to shove them back open, he heaved forward, driving the dumpsters into the vacuum trap.

  A transparent energy field expanded outward, sealing them inside.

  Screams erupted.

  They thrashed, pounded, kicked—but Nigel was already on top of them, pressing the lids down with everything he had.

  Then—the trap fully activated.

  The air vanished.

  Inside the dumpsters, the trapped men screamed in panic, their voices turning into choked, desperate gasps as their oxygen drained away.

  The weight of the lids pressed into his hands.

  Not yet.

  He didn’t flinch as the banging stopped. He told himself they were enemies. He had no choice. Still… he hated the silence.

  He had to make sure the ones inside the dumpsters died.

  After what felt like an eternity, William found the vacuum device and deactivated the trap, while Nigel opened the lids.

  And inside, he found just what he expected.