Max's hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He stared at his reflection—no, not just a reflection. A version of himself he'd tried so hard to forget. The version that laughed at people's pain. That crushed anyone weaker without even blinking. That enjoyed watching others break.
And the worst part?
It wasn't some twisted illusion. That monster... was really him.
He clenched his jaw. His vision blurred. His whole body felt cold.
So he did the only thing he thought might mean something.
He reached for the knife that had appeared in his hand—his fingers trembling so bad it nearly slipped—and drove it straight into his own throat.
The second the blade tore through skin and muscle—
His reflection smiled.
"Good choice," it whispered, like it had been waiting.
And just like that—
Max was gone.
Not just dead. Gone.
Erased
Elliot didn't move.
He stood there frozen, staring at his own reflection. His stomach twisted, his heart thudded like a drum in his chest. He had just watched someone die—someone he'd known since childhood—and it still didn't feel real.
But he didn't cry. He didn't beg.
Because somewhere deep in the pit of all that fear and grief… something finally clicked.
He had never been the good guy.
He wasn't innocent.
He was the bystander. The quiet one. The one who looked away. The one who let it happen.
And maybe that was just as bad.
His throat tightened. Guilt clawed at his insides, but for once, he didn't let it bury him.
Maybe—just maybe—it didn't have to be the end of his story.
His voice was rough, like it hadn't been used in days.
"…I won't run anymore."
His reflection tilted its head, almost like it was trying to decide if he meant it.
Then—
It smiled.
And vanished.
Leaving Elliot standing there. Alive.
But changed.
Arthur sighed softly, like the weight of everything had finally settled.
"Well."
He snapped his fingers.
The mirrors shattered like glass, raining into nothingness.
And suddenly—they were back in the school.
Or what was left of it.
The halls were empty now.
Max was gone.
The teachers, the students, the ghosts—gone too.
Only Elliot remained, standing in the ruins of something that used to matter.
Arthur stepped toward him, crouched down just a bit, and gave him a small, tired smile.
"Congrats," he murmured. "You won."
Elliot didn't speak.
Didn't even look up.
He wasn't grateful.
Wasn't relieved.
Just… tired. Soul-deep tired. The kind that doesn't go away with sleep.
Arthur straightened, looking down at the last survivor.
"Now," he said, his voice a little softer, a little more human, "let's see what you do with this second chance."
And then—just like that—he was gone.
The game was over.
And in the wreckage of everything that once was…
Only one person was left to decide what came next.
The city didn't change.
Not even a little.
Even after Arthur's game. Even after the school became nothing more than an empty ruin.
The world kept turning. People kept moving. As if nothing had happened at all.
Because in this city— Power was the only law.
The police didn't protect the weak. The courts didn't punish the strong. The hunters did whatever they wanted.
Arthur wasn't okay with that. Not anymore.
So, he walked straight into the police station.
And smiled.
"Good evening, officers."
The moment he stepped inside— The air shuddered. Reality itself bent like it was bracing for impact. And the doors slammed shut behind him.
The officers glanced over, unimpressed. He looked like a kid. Like nobody important.
One of them leaned back in his chair. "You lost or something, kid?"
Arthur chuckled. "Nope. I'm exactly where I need to be."
Another officer yawned. "Alright, what do you want?"
Arthur stepped forward.
"I'm here to confess."
Silence.
Then a scoff. A man with cold, tired eyes leaned forward. "Confess to what?"
Arthur tilted his head, smiling like this was all just a joke. "Mass murder."
For a second, no one moved.
Then—
Laughter.
One officer burst out laughing. Another leaned back, grinning. "You? Mass murder? Come on."
Arthur's smile didn't fade. "Yep."
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a phone. Tapped the screen.
And played the footage.
The room fell silent.
They watched. Watched the school twist into a nightmare. Watched the students explode. Watched the guilty hang. Watched the dead consume the living.
And watched Arthur. Smiling. In control.
The tension in the room turned sharp enough to slice through.
One officer knocked over his chair standing up. "What the hell is this?!"
Arthur grinned wider.
"This," he said, "is your failure."
He snapped his fingers.
And reality shattered.
The station disappeared. The desks, the walls, the lights—gone.
And the officers?
They found themselves in a place that defied logic.
An arena of darkness. A twisted courtroom where time itself forgot how to move.
One of them gasped. Another dropped to his knees. A third—maybe their captain—reached for his gun.
But it was gone.
In his hands— Was the body of a child.
The captain's eyes went wide.
And the child opened its mouth—
And screamed.
Arthur hovered above, arms spread like a conductor.
"Welcome, officers," he said brightly. "You've spent your lives enforcing the law."
A beat.
"Or ignoring it."
He clapped his hands once.
"So let's have a trial."
The officers panicked. One tried to yell—but his mouth was gone. Another ran—but there was nowhere to go.
Arthur smirked.
"Let's get started."
A massive scale appeared, floating in the air. One side empty. The other—filled with bloodstained badges.
And then the voices started.
Whispers. Screams. Cries of the forgotten.
"Where were you?!" "They murdered my son!" "My daughter begged for help! You did NOTHING!"
The officers trembled.
Arthur watched, almost bored.
"The rules are simple," he said. "The scale weighs your sins."
"If it tips too far—"
Snap.
One officer collapsed. His body twisted. Flesh warped. Gone.
As if he never existed.
The others screamed.
Arthur gave a lazy shrug. "Guess he failed the trial."
The scale kept moving. The voices got louder.
One officer relived every ignored plea. His mind broke.
Another tried to beg. The weight of his own apathy crushed him into dust.
Another felt every pain he'd ever dismissed. Every cry he'd silenced.
None of them were innocent. None were spared.
Until— Only one remained.
The captain. His eyes were empty. His hands trembled.
And the scale still tipped.
He fell to his knees.
And whispered— "Please."
Arthur tilted his head. "Please what?"
"Please… let me atone."
Arthur's smile faded for the first time.
His Eyes of Wrath flickered.
"Atone? Now? After everything?"
The captain lowered his head. "I know it's too late. But if I still have time—let me fix it."
A long silence.
Then— The scale stopped.
Arthur sighed. "How boring."
Snap.
The void collapsed.
The next morning— The police station was gone.
Not destroyed. Not burned.
Gone.
No one remembered it. No one remembered them.
Except for one man.
The former captain.
A broken soul who remembered everything.
He spent the rest of his life trying to atone for sins that could never be forgiven.
And Arthur?
Arthur moved on.
Because the game was over.
And the world still had plenty of players left.
The Hunter Association stood at the center of the city like a throne carved from arrogance.
It was power. It was fear. It was untouchable.
A temple built on the backs of the weak. A monument to the lie that strength equals justice.
And Arthur had no intention of walking past it.
No.
He walked into it.
The moment his foot touched the marble floor, something shifted. Not in the building. In the air.
Like the city itself had stopped to hold its breath.
Inside, a group of elite hunters laughed over drinks. They joked about their last raid, about how many had begged before they killed them, about how good it felt to be feared.
And then—
Arthur walked in.
No one recognized him at first. He looked too ordinary. Too calm.
Until the doors vanished. Until the walls melted. Until the floor beneath their feet disappeared.
And in a blink—
They were somewhere else.
They stood in a city of blood.
Not a city. A graveyard.
Buildings made from flesh and bone twisted toward the heavens. Streets paved with shattered skulls stretched endlessly. The air reeked of rot and ruin.
Above them, a red sun bled across the sky like an open wound.
One hunter— A man who once wiped out a village for sport— screamed as his boot sank into the body of a child.
Arthur hovered above them, his red eye glowing.
"Do you like it?" he asked, voice calm. "This world is made from everyone you've killed."
Another hunter—a woman crackling with electricity—snarled. "You think tricks will scare us?"
Arthur chuckled.
"Oh, I don't want to scare you." His smile curved like a blade.
"I want you to suffer."
Round One: Let the Games Begin
A colossal arena rose before them— a colosseum built from screaming souls.
Thousands of ghostly faces stared down from the stands.
Arthur spread his arms.
"Ten rounds," he said lightly. "Win one? You move on. Lose one—" He snapped his fingers.
A hunter exploded into red mist.
Screams erupted.
Arthur grinned.
"That about sums it up."
And just like that—
The game began.
Far from the chaos, in a quiet place untouched by death and screaming ghosts—
Camila stared at the screen like it had just punched her in the gut. Her book slipped from her fingers without her noticing. Arthur had been the one who once told her to trust again, after everything. Now? He was unrecognizable.
Liam sat frozen, his golden aura glitching with every scream that echoed through the livestream. Arthur had been the only person who'd ever treated him like more than a weapon. Seeing him now—using power the way their enemies did—felt like watching a god fall.
Athena couldn't stop trembling. Her hands clutched her shirt tight over her heart. Arthur was the one who pulled her from the rubble. The one who smiled at her when she forgot how. She covered her mouth as if holding in a scream, tears welling in her eyes.
And Amelia? She didn't blink. Her smile was soft. Sad. Resigned. Because deep down, she had always known Arthur's wrath had no ceiling. But that didn't make it hurt any less. He had once called her his anchor. Now he looked like a storm untethered.
They watched in silence, each of them haunted by different memories—of the Arthur they knew, and the monster he was becoming.
Camila whispered, voice raw and barely audible, "We need to find him."
No one argued.
Because if they didn't— They wouldn't just lose Arthur. They might lose everything he once stood for.
Four people stared at the screen.
Camila's grip tightened around her book. Liam's golden aura pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Athena's breath caught in her throat. Amelia? She just smiled.
But all of them knew— This wasn't the Arthur they remembered.
He had always been intense. But this? This was something else.
Something colder.
And as the screams echoed from the livestream, Camila whispered, "We need to find him."
No one disagreed.
Because if they didn't— They might never get him back.
Or worse— No one might survive him.
Round Two: The Hunt Reversed
Back in the arena— the screams never stopped.
The hunters—apex predators, killers without conscience— were now the ones trembling.
One of them, a towering man once praised for bringing down an entire rebellion solo, clutched his own arms like they were all that could keep him grounded. His face was pale, sweat pouring down his neck as if he were burning from the inside out.
Another, a woman known for her cruelty in interrogation chambers, backed up slowly, her hands raised like a child caught doing something wrong. Her breathing was sharp, erratic, like she couldn't find her own rhythm.
A third, younger than the rest but with the body count to rival them, tried to laugh—tried to act like this was a bluff. But his voice cracked, and the laugh died in his throat.
They all felt it now. Not the power they thought they owned. Not the control they clung to. Just the cold weight of judgment settling into their bones.
They'd never known fear. Not when they murdered families. Not when they hunted the helpless. Not when they crushed hope beneath their boots.
But now? Now they couldn't breathe.
Arthur floated above them, watching. Unblinking. Smiling.
"Alright," he said. "Round two."
A loud bell rang. A screen appeared in the sky.
Twenty-five names. Fifteen still lit. Ten already gone.
Arthur clapped his hands.
"Let's play The Hunt."
The arena melted again— turning into a dense, nightmare forest.
The trees dripped black blood. The wind whispered in broken voices.
And Arthur's face appeared on a hovering screen.
"Normally," he said, "you do the hunting." His smile widened. "But tonight? You run."
"Survive an hour. That's it." He leaned in.
"Oh—" His eyes glowed.
"And try not to scream."
Because the forest had begun to move.
The trees bent. The shadows stretched. And from the darkness— They came.
The hunters had killed many things in their lives. But not like this.
These were monsters made from their own sins.
Children with mouths stitched shut. Mothers with eyes gouged out. Men with heads split open and still whispering.
They knew the faces. They recognized the bodies.
They had killed these people.
And now— The dead were hunting them.
One hunter ran. Another followed.
And the forest swallowed them whole.