The sun had long since faded behind darkened clouds, casting a pale light over the battlefield. A massive, glowing dome shimmered in the center of the wasteland—silent and ominous, like a god's eye watching below.

  Around it, a wild crowd had gathered. Fighters, survivors, maniacs, and wanderers—all hardened by a month of death and survival—shouted with anticipation. Cheers echoed through the dust, bets were shouted, names called out.

  Inside the dome, two stood face-to-face.

  One—cloaked in shadows, hood drawn low, holding two curved kukri blades with a predator’s patience.

  The other—tall, sharp-featured, standing proudly with a black cane nearly his height. He smiled lazily.

  “Shall we begin, rat?”

  No warning. No count.

  The hooded man launched forward—fast and low—his kukri slashing upward with brutal precision. The curved edge aimed to cut deep from below the ribcage. But his opponent merely shifted his head to the side, grinning.

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  In one fluid motion, the cane twisted in his hands, and with a brutal downward swing, he brought it crashing down on the charging man.

  A sickening crack echoed through the dome.

  The kukri fell first. Then the body.

  Silence.

  Then a voice, deep and clear:

  “I am Tango, Rank 7.

  If you desire my place—come and take it.”

  The crowd stirred, but none moved forward. Not yet.

  On this patch of ruined land stood the best and the bloodiest—creatures that looked like outlaws, but each one stronger than a veteran who had survived ten years of war. Among them were the Ten. The top-tier duelists. Killers of killers.

  And Tango, with his first public kill, had just become one of them.

  The truth had surfaced only days earlier: nearly 95,000 people had been dragged into this twisted game. Trapped within an immense white barrier, cut off from the world. On the barrier, only three sentences burned in glowing letters:

  “Only the best shall remain.”

  “They shall become stronger.”

  “One year.”

  Now, just 20,000 remained.

  And less than half the time had passed.

  The smartest of the strong gathered. They knew wandering aimlessly, killing at random, was pointless. There would be time for violence—but only after the end.

  Only after they found the one who created the game.

  And ended it.