The conference room felt eerily still, each of us occupying our own bubble of uneasy quiet. The System’s rest timer remained projected in the air—somewhere under half an hour left—yet it already felt like too little time. Every so often, a faint flicker of the fluorescent fixtures would draw our eyes upward, a reflexive check to see if the portal at the room’s center had stirred.

  Trevor sprawled on the tattered gray carpet, his mop-turned-spear across his knees. He stared at it absently, occasionally running his thumb over the jagged end as if checking it was real. Barry leaned against a makeshift barricade of tables and chairs, his arms folded. Izzy hovered nearby, fiddling with a torn piece of cloth, still shaken from the wave—and from the memory of Jacob’s end. Claire stood at the far side, arms tight across her chest, scanning each of us with the same assessing gaze she’d used back when we were just coworkers, not warriors.

  Gerald fiddled with his short club, glancing around like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Meanwhile, Ned tapped his pen, glancing at the overhead timer every few seconds, as if waiting for the next wave of chaos. Despite the lull, tension crackled like static in the air.

  I sat on the edge of an overturned office chair, letting my battered guillotine blade rest against my shoulder. The rest timer made me uneasy; it was too deliberate—the System allowing us to breathe. Breathe so it can test us again, obviously. My nerves still felt raw, but one fact lingered: if we wanted to get out alive, we needed to use every second wisely.

  Claire sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “We have to finalize what we’re doing with those skill scrolls,” she said, glancing at the battered stash of items Ned and Trevor had laid out. “No matter how short this break is, any edge helps.”

  Trevor pushed off the floor, kneeling by a small pile of luminous scrolls, glimmering crystals, and a handful of copper coins. “All right, we’ve got…” He counted them off on his fingers. “Three Lumic Flash scrolls—though I think Ethan took one last wave—some glowy Lumic Cores that we still don’t fully understand, and this sweet baby.” He lifted a parchment labeled Precision Strike, flicking it in the air for emphasis.

  Barry’s eyes followed the movement with quiet interest. Claire had already suggested that skill for him, but the prior wave’s chaos had interrupted any chance to hand it over formally. Now was the time to settle that.

  "Hold up," Gerald interrupted, stepping forward with his brow furrowed and his arms crossed. "Why does he get the Uncommon skill? Shouldn't we—"

  "Vote?" Trevor cut in, his grin widening to infuriating levels. "Yeah, let's put it to a vote. Because when the apocalypse rains down flashing beetles, democracy is exactly what saves the day."

  Gerald's glare could've peeled paint off the walls. "I'm serious," he said, his voice rising, echoing faintly off the barren walls. "We can't just hand out the best stuff to the guy who looks tough. That's a great way to—"

  "To not die?" Trevor suggested, his tone mock-helpful. "Barry here could snap one of those beetles in half with his eyebrows, so forgive me if I want him doing that with skills to back it up."

  The air grew heavier as the tension built, the faint hum of the portal pulsing in sync with the heated exchange. Shadows flickered across the walls, jagged and restless as if reflecting the room's mood. Gerald stiffened. His tone wasn’t as combative as before, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable. "If we only hand out the good stuff to the so-called strong, what happens to the rest of us? Are we supposed to just… hope for the best?"

  "Hope's great," Trevor said, his grin fading slightly, though the sarcasm stayed. "But so is not dying because Barry gutted something before it gutted us."

  "Enough," Claire snapped, her tone cutting through the argument like a whip. She stepped forward, placing herself between them with an authority that made both men hesitate. Her gaze was firm, unwavering. "We'll distribute based on what keeps us alive the longest. Lumic Flash is flexible—anyone can use it. Precision Strike requires strength and precision. Barry fits. Or do you think you'd do better with it, Gerald?"

  Gerald exhaled, crossing his arms. “I’m not saying I want it, just… I killed a Beetle too. Is there anything else for me to use?” He glanced at the leftover scrolls. “Lumic Flash maybe?”

  Trevor shrugged, smirking faintly. “I recall Ethan was carrying a Flash scroll, but hey, we’ve got a couple more. Lucky you.”

  I sighed, pushing myself to my feet. “Look, if we want to maximize survival, we need to ensure the right people get the right gear.” My stomach still knotted when I thought of Jacob’s empty spot, but I forced myself to focus. “Gerald, if you want to handle crowd control, you can take a Lumic Flash. Barry can use Precision Strike to, I dunno, decapitate something before it kills us.”

  Gerald mulled that over, posture stiff. Finally, he gave a begrudging nod. “Fine.”

  Claire nodded, flicking her gaze to Barry. “All right, then. Precision Strike is yours.” She lifted the small scroll from Trevor’s hand. “Barry, you want to handle the system acceptance?”

  Barry looked down at his broad hands, then reached out to take the scroll with careful precision. He cracked it open, the parchment glowing faintly as runic symbols shimmered across his palms. A subtle greenish light flickered around him, and then the scroll disintegrated like dust motes. He blinked, exhaling slowly.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The same hush fell as we watched for any dramatic sign that Barry was now unstoppable. But he simply closed and opened his fists, as if testing a new range of motion.

  “All right,” he rumbled quietly. “Feels… different. I’ll see how it works in the next fight.”

  Trevor attempted a wry smile. “Just try not to ‘Precision Strike’ one of us, yeah?”

  Barry managed an almost-smile back. “Noted.”

  With that settled, Trevor tossed one of the Lumic Flash scrolls to Gerald, who caught it reflexively. Gerald eyed it with a mixture of relief and lingering doubt. He nodded thanks, though his expression remained guarded.

  Across the room, Izzy sat near Ned, her hands twisting in her lap. Neither had kills, so neither had leveled up or could they use scrolls. The disparity in the group’s power deepened the sense of guilt that flickered in my chest. They’re locked out, forced to watch us gather new toys while they stand on the sidelines.

  Ned’s pen tapped faster, betraying his anxiety. Finally, he muttered, “I wish there was a way for me—us—to help. Without—” He trailed off, swallowing whatever dread accompanied the concept of having to kill a monster.

  “It’s not fair,” Izzy said softly, tears pricking her eyes again. “But… we’ll keep trying. The next wave, maybe I can—” She hesitated, as though the idea of actively hunting a kill turned her stomach. “I can’t just sit here forever.”

  Barry overheard, turning their way. “We’ll keep you safe,” he said simply. “And if you see an opening for a kill, maybe that’s how you get System access. But you don’t have to force it.”

  Izzy nodded shakily. She tried to respond, but words failed, so she just squeezed Ned’s elbow in a silent show of solidarity.

  Claire cleared her throat, stepping forward with a determined look. “We have about half an hour left, presumably.” She glanced at the overhead timer (which read something in the 20–25 minute range) and gave a curt nod. “That means we get reorganized, set up what we can, and maybe rest if possible. I’m assigning watch shifts so that at least one person’s eyes stay on the portal at all times.”

  Trevor raised an eyebrow. “And what if something spawns right under our noses at minute five?”

  Her lips tightened. “Then we deal with it. But it can’t blindside us if we’re paying attention.” She paused. “Gerald, you take the first watch. You’ve got that new Flash skill. If anything weird happens, use it to stall.”

  Gerald bristled slightly but said nothing in protest. He moved toward the portal, setting his short weapon aside so he could examine the flickering swirl more closely, scroll in hand.

  We drifted into smaller tasks. Barry resumed fortifying the makeshift barricades. Ned and Izzy tried to salvage anything that might serve as bandages or padding. Trevor rummaged through the break room for more potential tools, a grim version of scouring for office supplies. Every so often, I heard him mutter comedic lines like, “Stapler: The +1 version,” but there was no real levity in his voice.

  I carefully tested the edge of my guillotine blade, wincing at how jagged it was becoming. Maybe I could find duct tape to reinforce the handle. My mind wandered: One wave left? Two? A hundred? The rest timer hovered overhead, each second a mocking tap on my shoulder.

  Claire noticed my distraction. She set her rod aside and approached. “You okay?”

  I forced a half-smile. “Define ‘okay.’”

  She pressed her lips together, scanning my face. “I get it,” she said softly. “This is… it’s insane. We’re all… processing.”

  A faint ache tugged behind my eyes, courtesy of the Enhanced Neural Sensory Threshold. “Thanks. Just… worried about the next wave. Or the next ten waves.”

  Her gaze flicked to the swirling portal, unsettled. “We’ll handle them if they come. One at a time, if that’s what it takes.” She exhaled, letting her posture relax a fraction. “Remember, you’ve got attribute points to assign. Don’t wait too long.”

  I nodded, looking away. My chest felt tight, not only from the heartbreak of losing Jacob but from the knowledge that everything hinged on these ephemeral stats and skills. It’s like the worst game ever… but if we don’t play, we die.

  Time bled away, the rest period creeping toward its final stretch. The overhead clock beeped gently at a ten-minute mark. Trevor had reorganized the random loot—Lumic Cores, leftover coins—into a neat pile on the conference table. Barry finished jamming a heavy metal cabinet against the corridor entrance. Gerald stood in vigilant silence, eyes darting between the portal’s flickers and the battered remains of the room.

  Ned and Izzy approached me and Claire. Their eyes shone with a mix of fear and fragile determination. “We can’t just… stand idle,” Izzy said, voice trembling. “If wave three hits, I want to try—”

  “To kill one, yeah,” Ned broke in, grimacing. “Horrible as that sounds, I need access. I can’t keep cowering if we might lose someone else.”

  Claire regarded them both, sympathy etched into her features. “We’ll do what we can to help. If an opening comes, we’ll let you take the final blow. Just be careful.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “No second chances in these Trials.”

  Another beep from the overhead clock made us all glance up. Rest Period: 00:09:47. My stomach twisted. Ten minutes left. Or so said the cosmic scoreboard.

  Trevor must have read my expression, because he forced a small, crooked grin. “Ten minutes to live, guys. Nothing like working under a deadline.”

  I huffed a weak laugh, though worry still gnawed at me. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

  Gerald stepped away from the portal, raising his free hand to show he was finished with watch duty. “It’s stable,” he murmured, “but I don’t trust it. Like it’s waiting.”

  “Join the club,” I muttered.

  In the quiet that followed, Claire glanced at the battered chairs, the remains of our fight, and the newly stacked barricades. Her grip on her rod tightened. “We did all we can.” Her eyes flicked around, meeting each of our gazes in turn. “No matter what comes next, we stick together. Barry, you’ve got Precision Strike; Gerald, you have Lumic Flash. Ethan, Trevor, you keep using your abilities or at least your wits. Use your Lumic Flash skill scrolls if you can. Ned, Izzy—stay behind us until an opening comes for you to strike.”

  Barry gave a small nod. “We won’t lose another person to panic.”

  Everyone of us with system access except Barry had received a Lumic Flash skill scroll. I hadn’t used mine, as I didn’t want to overload my senses. But it helped to have that option.

  The overhead lights flickered one final time, making the shadows waver across the desks and walls. Ten minutes. Enough to catch our breath, but not enough to erase the horror we’d seen.

  The timer overhead clicked down into single digits: 00:08:59… 00:08:58… A faint crackle from the portal sent a jolt through the group. Immediately, we all raised our battered weapons, hearts pounding in grim anticipation.

  But nothing emerged. Not yet.

  We waited, each second throbbing in our ears. Would wave three spawn the instant the rest ended? Or was the System cruel enough to let us tear ourselves apart with anxiety?

  I firmed my grip on the guillotine blade, glancing sideways at Ned and Izzy. They looked pale but resolute. Trevor’s eyes glimmered with forced bravado. Barry exuded calm readiness, while Gerald clutched his scroll, lips pressed tight. Claire lifted her chin, scanning us all like a commander about to lead troops into a hopeless war—and choosing to do it anyway.

  We had minutes, maybe less, before the next test. The swirl of tension in my chest felt heavier than the battered metal in my hands. But we are together. And as long as we are together, we have a chance.

  Salutations, traveler! Ever dream of seeing your clever idea pop up in these Trials? Higher tiers can propose cameo ideas. Meanwhile, all are welcome to free audio for public chapters on my —and if advanced chapters tempt you, a pledge awaits.

  Stay on your Path, and Ascend.

  Stardust Nexus