The mechanical "ding" signaling the end of the first ten minutes of Zone 2 still echoed in Lasron's ears, the sound a caustic mockery after seven long days he had struggled just to survive it.
The blood-red Rage Troll was still growling right in front of him, taking a few steps back after its recent missed attack, its crimson eyes fixed on him as if wanting to devour him whole. It hadn't vanished. Lasron panted, drenched in sweat as if he'd been submerged, his entire body taut as a bowstring, every muscle fiber screaming in exhaustion.
Ten minutes.
He had survived the first ten minutes with it, a meager achievement paid for with countless instances of his body being crushed, torn apart, and then painfully regenerated in the solitude of the safe zone. Seven days steeped in the haunting memory of devastating blows, of the sensation of bones shattering.
But the brief joy, or rather, the temporary relief of having narrowly escaped Death's scythe, had barely formed when another, even more terrifying sound, echoed from another part of the arena. The heavy, ear-splitting screech of metal grinding against metal, drawn out agonizingly... from the direction of Cage 2.
It was opening.
Lasron's heart clenched, sinking to the pit of his stomach. A new monster was about to appear, while the Rage Troll, an obsessively familiar foe, remained an immediate, existing threat, just a few paces away.
The air in the arena, already oppressive with the smell of his own blood and the Troll's distinctive musk, grew even thicker. He hastily retreated a few more steps, trying to maintain distance from both Cage 1 – where the Rage Troll stood growling, seemingly also wary of the new sound – and Cage 2, which was slowly revealing the deep, deadly darkness within.
The sand shifted slightly under his feet, and he could smell the metallic tang of his own blood mingling with the arena's signature odor – a concoction of dust, metal, and an invisible, pervasive fear.
From the darkness of Cage 2, a massive black shadow slowly emerged, heavy and imposing. It was a bear, entirely covered in pitch-black fur, as enormous as the Rage Troll. Its thick, shaggy coat was as dark as ink, glinting with a wild, untamable sheen under the dim purple light of the artificial sky. Its small, beady eyes, like two smoldering coals, shone with ferocity and bloodlust.
But the most frightening feature was the set of long, sharp claws on both its forelimbs, gleaming like carefully honed short swords, each claw nearly as long as Lasron's forearm, capable of tearing apart anything in its path. A Black Bear, true to its name, but possessing a wildness and danger far exceeding any bear he had glimpsed in the rare tales from the outside world. The bear took a deep breath, scenting the air, then let out a deep, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through Lasron's chest, even causing the sand on the ground to tremble.
The Black Bear's gaze swept past Lasron – the small, scrawny prey trying to shrink himself at the arena's edge, his body still trembling after ten minutes of struggle with the Troll – then settled on the Rage Troll standing nearby, which was also growling at it with wariness and hostility. It seemed the appearance of another large monster, a potential rival in this invisible territorial dispute, had captured the black bear's attention more than he had.
The Rage Troll also recognized the newcomer. Its bestial instincts flared. It roared back, a sound filled with fury and challenge. The two colossal monsters stared at each other, the tension in the arena becoming almost unbearable, so thick it felt as if it could be cut with a knife. Lasron felt like he was standing between two erupting volcanoes.
He held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest, trying to press himself against the cold stone wall behind him. Two monsters! What was he supposed to do? Dealing with one Rage Troll was already indescribable torture; now there was a Black Bear that looked no less powerful. He couldn't possibly handle both at once. His first thought was to retreat immediately to the safe zone, accept defeat, accept starting over. But the cost of that was too high. Seven days just to get past the Troll. He didn't want to repeat that.
But then, something unexpected happened, a fragile glimmer of hope in a seemingly inescapable, desperate situation. The Black Bear, with an even angrier roar, didn't charge at Lasron but suddenly lunged straight for the Rage Troll. The Troll, showing no fear, raised its rippling, muscular arms, ready for a life-or-death battle to defend its status as the first arrival.
BOOM!
The two giant monsters collided, creating a sound like thunder in a clear sky. Sand and dust billowed, obscuring vision for a moment. The Black Bear raked its sharp claws relentlessly at the Troll's thick, red hide, leaving long, deep gashes of blood. The Troll, in turn, tried to use its superior strength to wrestle its opponent down, its punches landing like sledgehammers, but the black bear proved surprisingly resilient and quicker than its bulky appearance suggested.
A thought flashed in Lasron's mind, as fast as lightning in the dark night. "They... they're not allied! They don't have the intelligence to coordinate! They still possess their primal instincts, seeing each other as enemies in this confined space!" If so, he could use this. He could let them destroy each other, or at least significantly weaken one another!
With that thought, Lasron began to move more cautiously, but also more proactively. He didn't dare get too close, fearing he would become a common target for both bloodthirsty beasts. But he couldn't just stand still and wait for luck either.
He tried to circle the arena, using his speed and small size, occasionally making small noises by kicking the arena wall or moving suddenly at the edge of their vision, trying to attract the attention of one of the monsters for a brief moment, directing its anger towards the other. It was an extremely dangerous game, a dance with death. Several times, one of the enraged monsters turned to attack him, and he had to scramble to dodge with all his meager agility, sometimes retreating right to the edge of the safe zone, his heart threatening to leap from his chest, cold sweat pouring down his back. But he didn't give up. Each time they turned back to attack each other, he gained a precious few moments to breathe, to observe, to calculate.
The battle between the Rage Troll and the Black Bear was incredibly fierce and bloody. Blood from both began to pour more and more, staining a large patch of yellow sand crimson.
Barbaric growls, pained roars, and the sickening thuds of flesh and bone echoed throughout the arena. The Black Bear seemed a bit quicker, its claws continuously tearing at the Troll's flesh, causing it to bleed profusely. Conversely, the Rage Troll possessed considerable strength and stamina; though wounded, its punches were still powerful, many times sending the black bear staggering.
Lasron, meanwhile, like a small phantom, weaved through the chaos, trying to survive and hoping they would weaken each other as much as possible. He learned to observe their expressions, to recognize when one was about to unleash a powerful blow, when it was about to switch targets. His eyes constantly darted between the two monsters and his escape route to the safe zone.
The next ten minutes passed in extreme tension, each second an eternity for Lasron. As soon as the second "ding" sounded, signaling that 20 minutes had passed since the start of the trial, the door of Cage 3 began to open, even as the other two monsters were still ferociously locked in combat, both clearly exhausted and heavily injured.
This time, a Long-Toothed Tiger, with a beautiful yet menacing dark orange striped coat and a pair of long, white, sharp fangs like small swords, burst from the cage. It moved with far more agility and grace than the other two hulking beasts, its paws barely making a sound on the sand. The tiger let out a low, powerful growl, then without hesitation, it immediately leaped into the ongoing chaotic fray, like a professional assassin seeking an opportunity.
The arena had now truly become a bestial battlefield. Three giant monsters lunged at each other, tearing and biting with frenzied abandon. The Rage Troll, though severely wounded after its fight with the Black Bear, blood streaming from countless gashes, still fought instinctively, swinging its fists wildly.
The Black Bear was no less ferocious, its claws continually inflicting new wounds on its two opponents, but it had also slowed considerably. The Long-Toothed Tiger, however, used its superior agility to evade direct attacks, then suddenly struck at the weak points, the open wounds, of the two larger monsters. It was like an orange phantom, darting around the two giants, occasionally delivering a vicious pounce.
Lasron's plan was still working, though he now had to struggle much harder to avoid being caught in the maelstrom of the three beasts. They moved all over the arena, their powerful collisions shaking the very ground.
He was like a circus performer walking an invisible tightrope between three wild animals; the slightest misstep, a moment's lapse in concentration, could mean being instantly torn to pieces. He focused intensely, all his senses on high alert, observing every movement, every glance, trying to predict their paths, and always keeping an escape route to the safe zone open.
He also realized that sometimes a loud shout or a small stone (which he'd found from unseen debris in the arena) thrown at the right moment could divert the attention of a monster about to attack him, causing it to turn on another opponent instead. Every action he took had to be calculated down to the smallest detail.
But then, when the third "ding" sounded, signaling 30 minutes had passed and Cage 4 opened, all of Lasron's calculations, all his efforts, all his fragile hopes, were utterly shattered in an instant.
From Cage 4, a Red Viper slithered out. It wasn't particularly large like the other three; its body was only as thick as an adult's forearm and about three meters long, but its entire form was covered in blood-red scales that reflected the eerie light under the purple sky. Its cold, golden eyes were devoid of emotion, filled with deadly intent. It moved incredibly fast, gliding over the sand almost soundlessly, as fluid and unpredictable as a red stream.
Upon appearing, the Red Viper didn't hesitate, nor did it pay any mind to the ongoing chaos. It was like a cold-blooded assassin with a single, unwavering purpose. It shot into the midst of the other three monsters' battle like a red arrow. The Long-Toothed Tiger, currently trying to sink its fangs into the neck of the exhausted and heavily wounded Black Bear, didn't react in time as the venomous snake suddenly struck from the side, its sharp fangs, like needles, sinking deep into its flank. The tiger shrieked in agony, then faltered, its body beginning to convulse violently before going limp, collapsing onto the sand, foaming at the mouth.
Next, without a moment's pause, the Red Viper turned on the Black Bear, which was injured and exhausted from fighting both the Troll and the Tiger. The black bear tried to swipe at it in defense, but the snake was too agile.
With just a few precise, lightning-fast bites to unprotected areas like its neck and belly, the giant bear also began to stagger, white foam frothing from its mouth, before it too crashed to the ground, lying motionless, its eyes still wide open. Even the Rage Troll, with its considerable endurance and thick hide, the one Lasron had spent seven days just to withstand, didn't escape its fate.
A lightning-fast bite to its heel, where the skin seemed thinner and less regarded, and only seconds later, the colossal Troll also collapsed, its body twitching violently, eyes rolling back, ending its role in the arena.
In less than five minutes, the Red Viper had completely neutralized three monsters far larger than itself, creatures Lasron had struggled immensely just to survive by exploiting them. Its venom was incredibly potent, taking effect almost immediately, giving its opponents no chance to resist or prolong their lives.
Lasron stood frozen in a corner of the arena, his entire body chilled to the bone, watching the scene unfold in stunned silence. His plan, his fragile hope of letting the monsters destroy each other, had vanished into thin air in a blink. Now, only he and the terrifying red serpent remained in the arena. A swift, cunning, incredibly dangerous predator armed with deadly venom.
The Red Viper slowly turned its head towards Lasron, its forked tongue flicking constantly, tasting the air. Its golden eyes no longer held the primal wildness of the previous three monsters but glinted with a chilling, a calculating intelligence that was utterly horrifying. It looked at Lasron as if sizing up prey already caught in its trap, a light snack after clearing away the nuisances.
Lasron knew a completely different challenge, a battle for survival in an entirely new way, a new nightmare, was truly beginning. He took a step back, his hands clenched, sweat pouring down his forehead, his heart hammering as if it would burst. He tried to recall what he had learned in Zone 1, trying to find any advantage, however small, but against this snake, all his old experiences seemed meaningless. It was too fast, too dangerous.
The snake let out a soft, dry hiss, then its body tensed. In a flash, it lunged, as fast as a red blur.
Lasron screamed instinctively, his body reacting before his mind could catch up, leaping sideways in a hopeless, desperate dodge. He felt a sharp, searing sting on his ankle, where the snake's fangs had perhaps grazed him. He didn't dare look down, didn't dare stop, just ran headlong towards the safe zone, leaving the snake's menacing hiss behind him.
As the white light of the recovery zone enveloped him, Lasron finally dared to look at his leg. A small bite mark, two deep fang punctures, but the surrounding area was already swelling rapidly and turning a bruised purple. A painful numbness was spreading up his calf. If he had been a fraction of a second slower, the venom would likely have penetrated deeper, and he wouldn't have survived.
He once again had to endure the painful recovery process, but this time, the fear and despair were even greater. Looking out at the empty arena, knowing he would have to face that Red Viper alone, and that if he failed, he would have to start all over again – from the Rage Troll, then the Black Bear, then the Long-Toothed Tiger, just for another chance to face this venomous snake – a despair even greater than before began to consume his mind.
The twenty agonizing days he had already spent getting 'acquainted' with the Red Viper, now felt like merely the beginning of a long series of failures and unimaginable pain, a solitary battle against an enemy he saw no way to defeat.