**Ready for Veil of Titan: The Sentients? - Dani, Vessa, and Mackiaveli team up again to fight a demon horde. This book is action-packed and full of mystery and intrigue.**

  **Stay tuned! Book release on March 21, 2025 **

  The sky exploded in fire. Mackiaveli hit the ground hard, rolling over jagged stone as the air filled with screams, steel, and system alerts flashing red in his HUD. The teleportation light barely faded before a massive, flaming spear slammed into the earth inches from his face, sending molten debris in every direction.

  "You’ve got to be kidding me!"

  The battlefield was chaos incarnate. Jagged ruins, shattered spires, and colossal iron chains dangled from the sky, stretching into a blinding, celestial void.

  SYSTEM ALERT: Hollow Depths

  The system had dumped him right into the middle of a war zone.

  SYSTEM ALERT: ENGAGING IN BATTLE

  SURVIVAL MODE ENABLED

  QUEST UPDATED: SURVIVE THE WAR

  Objective: Escape the Hollow Depths

  Bonus Objective: Defeat a Field Commander

  "Great. First I lose my gold, now I get thrown into a goddamn war."

  A warhorn bellowed. From the horizon, armored warriors clashed in a brutal melee—barbarian warriors in fur and bone armor, wielding massive iron weapons, tore through legions of heavily armed soldiers, their glimmering golden shields marked with the Roman insignia.

  A barbarian raider rushed at him, a rusted cleaver swinging toward his skull. Mackiaveli sidestepped, barely ducking in time before instinct took over. He drove his knee into the raider’s ribs, then pivoted, slicing his short sword across the warrior’s exposed neck. Blood sprayed, then pixelated into data fragments. The body hit the dirt. Mackiaveli didn’t stop moving.

  SYSTEM ALERT: +50 EXP GAINED

  NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: BATTLE INSTINCT – LEVEL 1

  A brutal rhythm took over—the kind of fluid combat only years of experience could teach. He twisted through the chaos, rolling between warriors mid-clash, deflecting strikes with precise parries, and counterattacking with deadly efficiency. But his movements weren’t perfect.

  He wasn’t as fast as he used to be. His Spirit Control barely activated, and his Shadow Control wasn’t strong enough yet to phase-dodge attacks. Every step felt too real. Too slow. Too mortal.

  "Damn it—no void powers, no high-tier skills, and barely any energy reserves. I’m basically fighting like a low-level grunt!"

  Another barbarian lunged—this one larger, meaner, wielding a warhammer the size of a small car. Mackiaveli had no time to react. The warhammer swung down—

  SYSTEM OVERRIDE – EMERGENCY EVASION ENABLED

  His body moved before he could think. He twisted midair, barely dodging the warhammer’s devastating impact, rolling across the ground before thrusting his sword forward— The blade plunged into the raider’s chest. The barbarian howled, blood spurting from his mouth, before Mack twisted the sword and ripped it free.

  SYSTEM ALERT: +200 EXP GAINED

  NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: ADAPTIVE COMBAT LVL 1

  Mackiaveli panted, gripping his sword tightly as more warriors swarmed the battlefield. He wasn’t getting out of here unless he thought tactically. But before he could plan his next move— A blinding golden light engulfed the battlefield.

  The ground shook. From the cliffs above, legions of golden-armored soldiers descended, their shields locked in formation, their spears glinting in the light of a burning sky. A voice boomed across the battlefield.

  "BARBARIANS! LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS. YOU NOW BELONG TO THE ROMAN EMPIRE."

  SYSTEM ALERT: GLOBAL EVENT TRIGGERED

  NEW STATUS: CAPTURED

  Mackiaveli barely had time to react before the Roman forces swept through the battlefield like a tidal wave, subduing both sides with ruthless efficiency. A brutal strike to the back of his head sent Mackiaveli sprawling, his vision flickering, his HUD glitching. Strong hands gripped his arms, shackling him in place.

  "Oh, come on!"

  He tried to resist, but his energy was depleted.

  "Guess I would’ve lost my gold anyway," he muttered, laughing as he was dragged into a massive iron cage.

  The iron cage rattled violently, rolling through the uneven, filth-covered streets of Rome. Chains clanked, bodies shifted uncomfortably, and the scent of sweat, blood, and decay clung to the air like a second skin. Mackiaveli sat wedged between two massive barbarian warriors, their glaring eyes burning with silent fury as they bounced with the movement of the slave cart.

  The crowd gathered along the streets, jeering, spitting, and hurling whatever they could find. A half-rotten tomato smashed against the iron bars, the juices splattering across Mackiaveli’s already dirt-streaked face. He exhaled slowly.

  "Okay. This is getting a little too immersive."

  The ARET Module had clearly changed how Another Life VR processed its environmental physics. Every scent, every sensation, the heat of the sun beating down on his back—all of it was real. And then—Something much worse hit him.

  His stomach twisted as a foul, gut-wrenching smell assaulted his nose. A dark, steaming mass of human filth splattered against the bars, barely missing him by inches. Mackiaveli recoiled, eyes widening as he watched an old, toothless man smirking beneath his toga, his hand still outstretched from throwing the disgusting projectile.

  "Oh, come on, man!" Mackiaveli growled, wiping his face as best he could.

  A chorus of laughter erupted from the crowd. More Roman citizens lifted their tunics, grabbing handfuls of their own filth, flinging it at the cages like it was some kind of twisted sport.

  "Damnit. This is disgusting."

  Mackiaveli had seen gruesome, gut-churning mechanics in VR before, but this? This was next-level brutality.

  "I swear, if I ever get admin access back, I'm turning all of you into respawn fodder."

  A barbarian next to him grunted, his expression unreadable. The slave convoy pushed forward, cutting through the winding streets. The stone buildings loomed, their intricate carvings catching the high sun’s glow. Rome was breathtaking—a sprawling, digital recreation so flawless, Mackiaveli could barely spot the seams of the simulation. For the first time since waking up in this world, he felt uneasy.

  How the hell did they manage this level of realism?

  This isn’t just Next-Gen. This is beyond the engine limits I programmed.

  It shouldn’t even be possible.

  He knew Auracron Prime had upgraded the system, but this felt like something else entirely. Then the gates to the slave market loomed ahead. Mackiaveli felt it before he saw it—a pressure in the air, the unmistakable weight of deep corruption.

  The slave carts stopped in a massive, sunlit courtyard, where hundreds of Roman elites, merchants, and lowlife brokers examined the latest batch of human property. A fat auctioneer stood at the center platform, his voice booming over the murmurs of the gathered spectators.

  "Welcome, noble buyers, to today’s glorious offering of strength and servitude! Behold—the finest warriors from the frontlines!"

  The cages were opened, and the prisoners were yanked out, their chains rattling. Mackiaveli stepped out cautiously, scanning the crowd of buyers. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. It wasn’t just a slave market. It was something else.

  Some of the merchants whispered in hushed tones, exchanging strange coded phrases. A few high-ranking buyers bore insignias not of Rome, but something older, something off-grid. And then there were the hooded figures—silent, watching, waiting.

  Something was happening beneath the surface of this trade, and Mackiaveli had the sinking feeling that this was all part of the game’s hidden architecture. A loud crack echoed as one of the Roman guards whipped a prisoner who resisted, sending a barbarian warrior to his knees. Mackiaveli clenched his fists.

  "Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna be okay with this."

  His mind raced—he needed an angle, a plan. If this was a side story to his Legacy Trial, then there was a way to use it. But before he could think further, he felt it—A presence.

  A cold shiver ran down his spine. Across the marketplace, standing beneath the shade of a marble column, was a hooded figure, hands moving subtly through the air. Mackiaveli’s blood ran cold.

  No. Not him.

  The hooded man’s fingers glowed with ghostly blue runes, subtle spellcasting hidden in plain sight. And then, for just a second, their eyes met. The hacker grinned. A slow, mocking grin. Mackiaveli’s heart pounded, and he growled in a low voice.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "What the hell are YOU doing here?"

  The last time he had seen this bastard, it had been in a completely different life—a nightmare memory from the old world. And now? Here? In the depths of Rome’s most corrupted underbelly? The hacker raised a single hand, fingers poised in a snapping motion. Mackiaveli’s stomach twisted. The moment he snapped his fingers—Everything would change.

  The auction square was a pit of heat, dust, and violence. It wasn’t just a market—it was a testing ground for blood. The sun cast long, merciless shadows, baking the ground hot enough to burn bare feet, while the stench of unwashed bodies and animal dung mixed with the overwhelming scent of fresh sweat and dried blood.

  Mackiaveli stood at the edge of the ring, his wrists still bound, his muscles taut with readiness, surveying the scene. The crowd had swelled, pushing forward in greedy anticipation, the air thick with murmurs of bets and speculation. Nobles, merchants, and lowlifes alike jostled for a better view, some sipping fermented wine, others clutching their purses as they eagerly watched the new batch of slaves fight for their survival.

  The Lanista, a man draped in a crimson and gold-trimmed toga, exuded power, his ornate rings flashing as he stroked his bearded chin in amusement. His gray eyes flicked from slave to slave, evaluating them like cattle.

  "Show me what they can do," he commanded.

  The auctioneer, a fat, sweaty man with a scroll clenched in his meaty fingers, nodded furiously and motioned toward the prisoners. One by one, the captives were thrown into the dirt circle at the center of the market, where they faced off against seasoned warriors, trained soldiers, and hired killers.

  Most of the slaves fell quickly—either from exhaustion, fear, or the overwhelming force of brutal, merciless beatings after they lost. Mackiaveli watched in silence. Some had spirit. But spirit wasn’t enough here.

  "You there!" the auctioneer called, his sweaty hand pointing straight at Mackiaveli.

  Mack tilted his head, rolling his shoulders as the chain around his neck clinked. A bald warrior stepped forward, cracking a long leather whip against the stone, the snap echoing through the market square like a gunshot.

  SYSTEM ALERT: COMBAT TRIAL ENGAGED

  SURVIVE THE WHIPMASTER

  "Unarmed?" Mackiaveli asked, his tone flat.

  "Let’s see if you’re worth more than a sack of rotten grain," the auctioneer sneered.

  The whip coiled like a viper, and then—It struck. Mack jerked back, narrowly avoiding the lash as it split the air inches from his chest. The moment he stepped, another crack—faster, sharper—snapped toward his face.

  SYSTEM ALERT: DODGE SUCCESSFUL +1 AGILITY

  His footwork saved him, but the Whipmaster was relentless. SNAP!

  Crack. Whipcord whistled through the air. Mackiaveli darted left, then right, letting the momentum of the whip’s swings dictate his movement. But he was playing a dangerous game. One wrong move, and that leather would flay skin from bone.

  The Whipmaster lunged in, flicking the handle—a feint—then reversing direction mid-strike. Mack didn’t dodge. He stepped into it.

  SYSTEM ALERT: COUNTER-ENGAGED

  His hand snapped forward, catching the leather cord mid-lash, yanking the Whipmaster toward him. With brutal efficiency, Mack drove his knee into the man’s ribs, then whipped the cord around his attacker’s throat, twisting it tight.

  The Whipmaster choked, struggling, eyes bulging. Mackiaveli twisted harder—and then threw him into the dirt, the crowd erupting in cheers and angry shouts.

  SYSTEM ALERT: VICTORY – 100 EXP GAINED

  The Lanista laughed, clearly entertained. "He’s got some fight in him!"

  "Luck!" The auctioneer wiped sweat from his forehead. "Let’s see how he does against real steel."

  A shadow fell over Mackiaveli as three armed gladiators stepped forward. Each one carried a gladius, the short Roman sword designed for quick, lethal thrusts. Mackiaveli exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

  "No weapons for me?"

  The Lanista smirked. "Let’s see how clever you really are."

  SYSTEM ALERT: COMBAT TRIAL UPDATED

  SURVIVE THREE GLADIATORS

  The first attacker lunged, sword flashing toward Mack’s throat. Mackiaveli sidestepped, catching the wrist mid-strike. Using his opponent’s momentum, he twisted, sending the gladiator crashing into his ally.

  SYSTEM ALERT: COUNTER SUCCESSFUL

  The third man was faster—his blade whistled toward Mack’s ribs.

  SYSTEM ALERT: INCOMING DAMAGE – NO EVASION

  Pain exploded through Mack’s side as the steel sliced through his flesh, red pixels flashing where the wound should have been.

  "Damn it."

  His health bar dropped by 30%, but he didn’t de-rez.

  No respawn? No reset?

  The realization hit just as a gladius swung for his face. Mack ducked, rolling into the closest gladiator’s legs. The man stumbled—just enough for Mack to rip the sword from his grip and drive the hilt into his jaw. The man dropped like a stone.

  SYSTEM ALERT: WEAPON ACQUIRED – GLADIUS

  The crowd watching roared. But Mackiaveli was slowing down. The second gladiator tackled him, and then the first rejoined the fight—three-on-one again, this time with brute force. Punches. Blades slicing through the air. A knee slammed into his ribs.

  SYSTEM ALERT: HEALTH CRITICAL – 5% REMAINING

  The world blurred. And then—darkness. The next thing Mackiaveli knew, he was on his back, gasping for air. Pain burned through his body, but he wasn’t dead. He was still here. He wasn’t respawning.

  "What... the hell?" he groaned.

  The auctioneer looked confused.

  "Why... isn’t he de-rezzing?"

  "This shouldn’t be possible," one of the guards muttered.

  The Lanista stepped forward, eyes alight with intrigue. "I’ll take him."

  "But—he’s—"

  "You’ll get your denari, auctioneer. I want him alive."

  Mack tried to push himself up, but a brutal fist smashed into his face, knocking him unconscious again. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, fragments of conversation filtered through the haze.

  "This one’s different. The system didn’t purge him."

  "He’s not like the others..."

  "Make sure he lives. We need to see what he really is."

  Then—darkness. Mackiaveli woke to the sound of dripping water and the distant clang of metal on metal. A slow breath filled his lungs. Pain. Still there, but duller now. His body ached, but it was functional.

  SYSTEM ALERT: HEALTH RESTORED TO 60%

  His vision adjusted to the dimly lit chamber—a vast stone room, flanked by heavy pillars carved with battle scenes, their engravings telling the stories of gladiators long dead. A single iron brazier crackled at the far end, casting long, shifting shadows across the chamber.

  He wasn’t bound. No chains. No locks. The wide wooden doors stood open, a heavy iron grate just beyond leading down into the underground slave pits.

  His instincts screamed.

  Trap.

  But why?

  Before he could process the thought further, a deep, rumbling voice echoed from the doorway.

  "Ah, awake at last."

  The massive figure stepped forward, robes flowing over a powerful frame, his hair silvered, his face carved with the hardened lines of a man who had seen death and prospered from it.

  The rings on his fingers glimmered in the firelight, each one inscribed with the insignias of past gladiatorial champions.

  "I am Vibius Cassius Falco. You may call me Falco."

  Mackiaveli sat up, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders.

  "A Lanista with a name. Rare."

  Falco smirked, his sharp eyes studying him like a wolf sizing up its next meal.

  "And you, Mackiaveli, are... different."

  Falco took a seat across from him, pouring two goblets of wine from a clay jug.

  "You don’t fight like the others, nor do you die like them."

  Mack took the cup, rolling the liquid between his fingers before taking a slow sip.

  "Noticed that, did you?"

  "Hard not to. The system should have wiped you. But it didn’t."

  Mack’s mind raced. The Lanista knew about the system.

  "You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? People who don’t die the way they should."

  Falco’s smirk widened.

  "Perhaps." He leaned forward. "What I do know is that I own you now. And your little grudge against this... Hacker?" He chuckled. "That makes you a very interesting investment."

  Mack’s fingers tightened on the cup.

  "What do you want?"

  Falco studied him for a long moment before setting his goblet down.

  "Entertainment, for now. Victory, eventually. And control, always. But you? You want revenge. And that... is useful."

  Falco leaned back, folding his arms.

  "Here is my offer. Fight in my name, win my favor, and when the time comes? I will let you hunt your Hacker personally."

  Mack’s heart pounded.

  "And if I refuse?"

  Falco chuckled.

  "You’re free to go. Right now, if you wish. Walk out that door, take your chances in the underground pits, fight through the guards, and escape into the city."

  He gestured toward the open doorway, his smile full of mock amusement.

  "Or, stay. Rise through the ranks as a gladiator. Gain wealth, weapons, respect. Earn your freedom on your terms. And when you stand before your enemy? You’ll do so as a legend, not a hunted dog."

  Mackiaveli took a slow breath.

  "And if I choose neither?"

  Falco smirked.

  "Then convince me. Show me why I should make your fight my fight. Manipulate me. Gain my favor. Prove you are worth more to me than the blood you spill in the arena."

  Before Mack could respond, a loud chime echoed through the chamber, followed by the flicker of a holographic message hovering just above Falco’s wrist. The Lanista’s smirk faded. Mack watched as Falco’s expression shifted—subtle, but telling. The man was not often surprised. But whatever the message said? It unsettled him. Falco stood, adjusting his robes.

  "Excuse me. I must attend to something."

  His guards fell in behind him, leaving Mackiaveli alone. The chamber remained open. His path was clear. And then—

  SYSTEM ALERT: THREE CHOICES AVAILABLE

  Select one of Three Choices below:

  CHOICE 1: Escape before reaching the Colosseum and find a way to get to the Hacker

  CHOICE 2: Play along, rise through the ranks as a gladiator to get free, and get the Hacker.

  CHOICE 3: Manipulate the Roman Lanista into helping him get the Hacker.

  Mackiaveli smirked.

  “So now that you’re all caught up, this is where I need your help. You see, I don’t know which path I should pick. What do you think? My path is your path.”

  “So the decision is YOURS. Pick YOUR path!”

  Select your choice from the poll below. The selection with the most votes will determine the main storyline. The other two paths will be included in the final book, so anyone reading later can follow any path they choose.

  But for now, I’m enlisting the Royal Road Community to help write the main story.

  Will you step up to the challenge? Or take a backseat in this adventure?

  MACKIAVELI: PICK YOUR PATH BELOW NOW!

  DON'T FORGET TO PICK YOUR PATH SO I CAN WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER. Pick from the Poll on this page.

  CHOICE 1: Escape before reaching the Colosseum and find a way to get to the Hacker

  CHOICE 2: Play along, rise through the ranks as a gladiator to get free, and get the Hacker.

  CHOICE 3: Manipulate the Roman Lanista into helping him get the Hacker.

  Pick From the Poll Below and Help Me Write Mackiaveli's Future.

  **If there aren't any votes within 7 days, I will randomly pick an option and begin to write the following 3 Chapters and the next choice in Chapter 6**

  What Path Do You Choose?