The sand seemed to shiver beneath Ethan's boots as the two cloaked figures stepped fully into the arena. A hush fell over the surviving teams—those few who still stood after the brutal initial skirmishes. Blood still stained the ground. Bodies were being quietly removed by silent drones, black and insect-like, humming softly as they cleaned up the aftermath of the violence. And yet, all eyes were on the newcomers.
They didn't walk like humans. Their movements were too smooth, too fluid, like shadows sliding over oil. Their cloaks didn't sway naturally either—they billowed and snapped as if caught in a wind only they could feel. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods, but even from a distance, Ethan could feel their presence pressing against his mind like the first sign of a migraine.
"Are they even contestants?" Alessia murmured, her body tense beside him.
"They weren't in the starting lineup," Ethan replied, watching closely. "And they didn't come out of the original gates."
One of the cloaked figures raised a long, crooked blade with a handle of bone. The other cradled a staff topped with a glowing stone—dull red at first, but now pulsing steadily, growing brighter with every beat like a second heart.
The air around them shimmered.
"They're not from our tier," Alessia said grimly. "I don't think they're Awakened at all."
"Then what are they?"
Before she could answer, the arena's massive screen flickered to life again. But this time, it wasn't the billionaire. Instead, a grainy image of a masked figure—white porcelain with red ink etched down the forehead—flickered into view.
"This is a sanctioned deviation," the voice announced. Genderless. Cold. "The Trial of Twos will now incorporate a dynamic hazard. Your reactions will be observed."
And with that, the image vanished.
"Dynamic hazard?" Ethan repeated, stunned. "We're test subjects to them."
"Always were," Alessia said. "Now we know who's really watching."
The cloaked figures began to move again, slow at first. Deliberate. One moved toward the pair of synchronized twins, the other toward a lean man nursing a fractured arm, likely the only survivor of his team. The twins raised their weapons, trying to assess the threat.
Too late.
The blade in the cloaked figure's hand shimmered once—and suddenly he was behind the twins. Neither had seen the movement.
Two arcs of crimson sprayed the air. Heads hit the sand a moment later.
Ethan's stomach turned. "Teleportation?"
"No," Alessia whispered. "Something worse."
The second figure approached the injured man. The man tried to run, limping through the sand. The staff-wielding figure pointed its glowing stone at him—and he froze mid-stride. Not physically. Time itself seemed to lock around him.
Then, he unraveled.
Not in blood, but in light—golden strands pulling away from his limbs, disintegrating him into nothing.
The staff dimmed.
The silence in the arena was deafening.
"What the hell are we supposed to do against that?" Ethan whispered.
"You survive," said a voice behind them.
Ethan spun, hands ready to glow, but it was the pale woman from the previous fight—the one who had spared him.
She held no weapon now. Her eyes were tired, and her arm bled from a fresh cut.
"They're not here to compete," she said. "They're here to thin the herd."
"Who are they?" Alessia demanded.
The woman hesitated. "They're... Sentinels. The gods send them when they want to cull too many unworthy competitors. You were progressing too fast. Too many survivors. So they're here to make sure only the most... adaptable remain."
"How do you know this?" Ethan asked.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pointed at the closest wall of the arena. One of the gates had silently reopened.
"Some of us are being offered a choice. Fight and probably die... or run."
The gate flickered with shimmering light, like a mirage.
"It's a portal?" Alessia asked.
The woman nodded. "To the next round. But only a few of you will make it. The Sentinels won't let everyone go."
Already, other contestants had noticed the gate. Two of them—a tall girl with spiked gloves and a short man who had thrown knives earlier—broke into a sprint. One Sentinel turned.
The man was gone before he reached the halfway point—split into pieces without a sound. The woman made it to the portal, diving through it just as the figure's blade swept through the air.
She vanished in a flash of light.
"They're fast, but they're not omnipotent," Alessia said. "There's a chance."
"There's always a chance," Ethan echoed.
They exchanged a look.
Then they ran.
Around them, chaos erupted again. Half the remaining contestants broke for the portal. Others hesitated. Some screamed. The Sentinels moved, elegant and cold, carving paths through the panicked masses. Ethan ducked under a blast of energy, dragging Alessia with him.
A man ahead of them threw a flash grenade—Ethan shut his eyes just in time. The boom disoriented the nearest Sentinel, buying precious seconds.
"Go!" Alessia yelled.
They were fifty feet away.
Thirty.
A cloaked shape loomed in their path.
Ethan didn't think—he surged forward, light pouring from his palms.
He grabbed the Sentinel's cloak.
And healed.
A jolt of resistance met his power—an overwhelming presence, like trying to pour water into the sun.
The Sentinel froze.
Alessia grabbed Ethan's hand and yanked him free.
They crossed the threshold of the portal.
The world turned white.
Then black.
Then silence.
The Trial of Twos was over.
And a deadlier trial had just begun.