A dull ache radiated through my shoulders as I lowered the makeshift blade I’d wrested from the guillotine paper cutter. The second wave of Lumic Beetles was gone—disintegrated into fractal dust that still shimmered on the gray carpet. Despite the flickering overhead lights and the lingering smell of burnt ozone, the conference room fell into a hush, broken only by our ragged breathing.

  A sudden ping drew my attention to the middle of my field of view, where a System prompt flared:

  [System Notification: Rest Period Granted. Time Remaining: 01:00:00]

  I exhaled, trying not to let the tension in my chest unravel me. For a moment, nobody spoke. We were all frozen in that uneasy calm that follows a storm—hands still trembling around battered weapons, blood pounding in our ears. Less than ten minutes ago, we’d lost Jacob in the corridor. Now the System was handing us a break, complete with a countdown floating like a digital ghost overhead.

  Claire’s voice cut the silence. “We have one hour.” She raked a hand through her hair, her expression tight and drawn. “One hour to rest, regroup… figure out what the hell we’re doing next.”

  Trevor snorted, leaning on his dented mop handle. He no longer looked amused—just hollow. “An hour. Great. Guess the cosmic game master’s feeling generous.”

  Ned stood off to the side, pen tapping uselessly against his palm. His eyes flicked to the overhead timer, then away. Izzy hovered near Barry, arms wrapped around herself as though warding off the chill of the air conditioner. Gerald paced in the corner, gaze darting from the swirling portal to us, one hand clenched around the short weapon he’d used to kill his first Beetle.

  And me? My muscles ached, each breath underscoring how little I’d actually processed the chaos. We have an hour, I thought, but it might feel like the shortest hour of our lives.

  We gathered in a loose circle near the conference table, stepping over the churned-up carpet and shattered chairs. The memory of Jacob’s last scream lingered like a specter in each of our minds. Izzy’s eyes were puffy, tears still threatening to spill over. Barry, stoic as ever, made a point of staying close to her, a quiet show of solidarity.

  I glanced at the overhead timer: 00:58:47. The seconds ticked down, an unnerving reminder that once this respite ended, the Trials would resume. We couldn’t afford to crumble under grief.

  Izzy swallowed, rubbing her sleeve across her face. “I can’t believe… he’s just…” She couldn’t finish. Her voice broke, and she drew in a shaky breath.

  Trevor set his mop aside, sliding down beside her. He winced when his injured arm brushed the table, but he forced a gentle smile anyway. “Hey. You’re here. That counts for something.”

  Izzy shook her head. “I stood there. I didn’t do anything.”

  Before Trevor could respond, Barry spoke up. “None of us expected it to happen so fast. We couldn’t protect him.” His jaw tensed, frustration simmering beneath the calm. “We won’t let it happen again. We just won’t.”

  The quiet weight of that promise pressed down on us. Ned, who had been resting with his head in his hands, shifted to look at Claire. “So what do we do now?” His voice trembled. “We can’t just keep waiting for more monsters. We… we barely survived the second wave.”

  Gerald, pacing near the battered door, let out an exasperated huff. “We figure out a strategy to stay alive. That’s what we do. Unless you’d rather walk outside into that war zone.” He nodded at the small window near the corner, where smoke and distant fires painted the Seattle skyline in ominous shades of red and gray.

  “Running won’t help anyway,” Claire said, her voice steady. “The System made that very clear. We stick together.”

  A faint glimmer caught my eye—a System panel blinking at the edge of my vision. Attribute Points, I remembered. I’d been meaning to check them. The Trials had recognized my kills from the previous wave, pushing me to the edge of Level 2. Barry and Claire had similarly advanced, while Trevor and Gerald sat at Level 1. Ned and Izzy still had zero kills, leaving them locked out.

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and whispered, “Status.”

  A momentary flicker, then a familiar interface unfurled in my sight:

  I stared at the table, still marveling at how a cosmic interface had turned my life into an RPG stat sheet. Five free points to invest. That might save my skin—or someone else’s—if used wisely. A pang of regret twisted in my chest. If we’d allocated these sooner, could we have saved Jacob?

  A grunt from Barry told me he was looking at something similar. Claire’s eyes flicked up from her ephemeral screen, her lips pressed into a firm line.

  Trevor glanced over, curiosity in his gaze. “What’s the fancy new gear, oh mighty Level 2 folks?” He attempted a lopsided grin, but it wavered. He was obviously more shaken than he let on.

  Gerald cleared his throat. “We still have synergy issues if you’re focusing on raw strength. Perhaps we should coordinate attributes so we… complement each other better?” His tone was forced, reminiscent of old corporate talk.

  I wanted to snap at him, but I swallowed the urge. Instead, I forced calm, remembering that Gerald had at least contributed a kill in the last wave—some stroke of luck. “Might not be a bad idea. But we need to trust each other first, or the synergy you keep pushing for means nothing.”

  Gerald bristled, crossing his arms, but he didn’t argue. Maybe he realized synergy talk would lead nowhere if no one was listening.

  Ned and Izzy stood off to the side, each wearing a look of helpless longing as they saw us rummaging through intangible screens. Ned’s pen tapping grew frantic, and Izzy hugged herself tighter. My gut twisted with guilt, but there was no easy fix. The System demanded kills for access, and they hadn’t landed any.

  The overhead countdown read 00:51:12 when Claire spoke up again, voice echoing in the battered conference room. “We’ve got less than an hour left of guaranteed rest. That means we must do two things: figure out how to use this time wisely, and prevent panic.” Her gaze swept over each of us, pausing on Izzy, Ned, and Trevor in turn. “Because next wave or next trial… no one else dies.”

  Izzy sniffled, but a flicker of determination crossed her features. “I—I’ll do my best.”

  Trevor nodded. “Yeah. If we’re all stuck in this cosmic pinball machine, might as well keep the ball rolling.”

  Gerald rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the half-blocked corridor door. “So we just… wait? Build barricades?”

  Barry shrugged, hefting the metal rod he’d used to kill so many Beetles. “Barricades help. So does scavenging for more items. We nearly ran out of anything decent to swing.” He shot a quick glance at me, as if to say we’re living on scraps here.

  My mind flitted to the savage ways we’d had to defend ourselves: chair legs, mop handles, the guillotine blade. Hardly premium gear for an apocalypse. But it was all we had.

  “Right,” Claire agreed. “We’ve already started piling furniture near the portal. Let’s do it systematically. If that swirl of nightmares starts spitting out a wave three or whatever comes in Trial 2, they’ll have obstacles to clear while we re-engage.”

  Ned’s voice came out in a tremor. “I— I can help with that.” He clutched the file drawer he’d been using as a shield. “Even if I can’t… you know.” He shrugged, frustration pinching his features.

  Claire nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Good. We need every set of hands.”

  Trevor pushed off the wall, picking up his broom-handle-turned-speaker-of-doom. “Let’s do it, then.” He paused, forcing an attempt at humor. “Unless HR complains about misusing company property?”

  Nobody laughed, but I appreciated the effort.

  We moved into action, rearranging the battered conference room. Barry dragged a heavy wooden table near the portal, bracing it with chairs stacked three high. Trevor and I scoured the hallway for any leftover metal rods or shards of Beetle shells that might yield something valuable. Gerald muttered under his breath, helping block off one corner of the room. Izzy shadowed Barry, offering assistance where she could—holding nails, passing him random supplies from the breakroom. Ned busied himself with reorganizing the scattered remains of our resource pile, systematically storing them in a corner.

  Somewhere in the fray, a quiet beep signaled the timer dropping below fifty minutes. My Enhanced Neural Sensory Threshold buzzed at the edges, reminding me of how easily the environment could overload my senses if a wave started. I squeezed my eyes shut for a breath, refocusing on the moment. Survive this hour, then survive the next. One step at a time.

  Trevor came up to me, quietly. “Any idea what’s next?” he asked, voice low.

  I shook my head. “Not a clue. But I doubt it’s good.” My stomach knotted at the thought. “At least we have time to breathe. Or pretend to.”

  He gave a faint grunt of agreement, then tapped the side of his mop. “We can hold out. Right?”

  I managed a tired shrug. “We don’t have a choice. But yeah… if we stick together.”

  Forty five minutes left. Almost thirty. The portal glowed softly, refusing to reveal whether wave three lurked behind it. Everyone worked silently now, concentration taut as we improved our makeshift fortress. Between the jagged partial remains of the second wave, the battered lighting, and that intangible sense of doom, our synergy was the only thing that stood between us and an early grave.

  Finally, Claire called us to regroup near the battered conference table. “We’ve got a partial blockade around the portal and corridor. The building is quiet otherwise. We use the rest of the hour to recover, check menus if needed, and watch each other’s backs. The moment the timer hits zero…” She let the words dangle, each of us filling in the dreaded the moment the timer hits zero, we fight cause we have to.

  A hush settled over the group. Every flicker of the overhead lamps stretched our shadows across the walls, and every second of the countdown felt loud in our minds. But for now, we were as ready as we could be—dented weapons in hand, hearts still pounding from the last wave, eyes flicking to the swirling darkness that refused to vanish.

  I ran my thumb over a battered copper coin in my pocket. We had quarter of an hour, give or take, to rest, talk, maybe try to be human again. And then? Who knows. The Trials weren’t done with us, but we’d made it this far.

  We formed a makeshift circle, each claiming a small patch of carpet or an overturned chair to rest on. Barry massaged the tension from his arm, Trevor cradled his bruised ribs, and I carefully tested the guillotine blade’s edge. Gerald wiped the sweat from his brow, trying not to look too shaken. Ned and Izzy huddled near each other, sharing a brief, whispered conversation—two who had no System kills, locked out of leveling, but still determined to help.

  Overhead, the timer flashed:

  00:29:58

  In the stuttering fluorescent glow, none of us said a word. We didn’t have to. This is our hour to breathe, to mend, to force hope out of the ashes. Because once the clock hit zero, the Trials would demand our blood again.

  Hey there, adventurer! Ready for more Trials? Join my for free audio of public chapters—no paywall. Feeling bold? Unlock the advanced backlog (also with audio). Oh, and watch out—weekly polls might let you nudge the plot ever so slightly!

  Stay on your Path, and Ascend.

  Stardust Nexus