through the crowd as the man in front of them stood in silence, observing.

  He was a fine-looking man-tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and slicked-back hair. His suit was tailored to perfection, white with faint crimson undertones that shimmered under the lights. He could have passed for a billionaire, a statesman, or a movie star.

  But his smile-God, his smile.

  It was wrong.

  It was terrifying.

  There was something off about it, as if it was stitched too wide, too slow, a warning wrapped in charm. When his lips curled, it sent chills into the bones of those who dared meet his gaze. It was the kind of smile you saw in your nightmares, the one that appeared before everything burned.

  He smiled slowly, savoring the moment.

  Then he spoke-voice calm, smooth, almost gentle-but heavy with something divine and dangerous.

  ---

  "Every one of you was invited here-but why?"

  He began pacing, slow and deliberate.

  "Because each of you is trash. A disgrace to society. Some of you are so insignificant, the world wouldn't notice if you disappeared. But here, we can turn you into something. Someone. A redeemer. You will become an instrument-an instrument of death."

  Gasps rippled through the room. Some exchanged bewildered glances. Others grinned with a strange excitement.

  One voice cut through the tension: "What if we don't want to kill?"

  The man's smile widened.

  "You don't have a choice. We asked you: Would you give it all? You said yes. And 'all' means your life."

  Another voice shouted, trembling with fury, "Fuck you! I want to go home!"

  The Game Master's eyes glinted with amusement.

  "You're on a remote island, surrounded by security you can't even comprehend. We transported you while you were unconscious for 24 hours. Even if you escape the perimeter, you'll never survive. You've all been implanted with chips-at the base of your neck. They track your vitals, your location, even your words. Disobey or fail, and the chip releases aggressive cancer cells into your bloodstream. Enjoy the illness."

  Suddenly, a man broke from the group, charging toward the stage with rage in his eyes.

  The room froze.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The Game Master didn't flinch. He calmly stepped aside. In one fluid motion, he disarmed the man-and with surgical precision, drove a pen into his throat.

  The man crumpled to the floor. Dead.

  The Game Master casually wiped his hands on a handkerchief.

  "This guy," he said, nudging the body with his foot, "was supposed to be one of my favorites. A descendant of Chinese monks-Zhu Lao Ting. What a waste."

  He kicked the lifeless body toward the crowd. Screams erupted. People recoiled in horror.

  "Fu-fuck! He's dead! We're dead too! What the hell is going on? B-blood everywhere-" Drex stammered, then wet himself.

  Gabriel looked at him.

  "First time?" Drex nodded, trembling.

  "That might not be your last," Gabriel muttered.

  In Gabriel's mind:

  He's not just a killer. He's an artist. That strike-it was graceful. Precise. He predicted the attack, moved like water... and drove a pen through a monk's neck like it was paper. I didn't even see the moment of impact. This guy is deadly.

  The Game Master continued, as if nothing had happened.

  "Don't worry. You'll be given everything you need to survive. You'll be trained by experts-professors, engineers, assassins, even psychologists. If you survive... maybe you'll make it to the end."

  He let the silence linger.

  "Stage One begins in 24 hours. But first... the rules."

  "You will wake up every day at 4 a.m. for conditioning. Two hours of physical exercise. At 8 a.m., classes begin-languages, history, geography, math... and the fine arts of killing. We sharpen the mind and body equally."

  The crowd shifted, processing the horror.

  "From 5 p.m. onward, you'll have access to facilities-restaurants, gyms, labs, libraries, even playgrounds. But everything comes at a cost."

  He raised a finger.

  "You earn points through performance. Points are your currency. They can be traded, transferred, and used for everything. No points? You eat prison food."

  He leaned forward.

  "Since points are like money, whoever earns the most... has the power. It's up to you how you get it."

  A ripple of tension spread.

  Someone shouted, "Can points be stolen?"

  The Game Master burst into laughter. "Haha! Coming from a thief like you? Of course, they can!"

  The man who asked smiled, reassured.

  A woman's voice rang out, sharp and defiant, "What if I kill the owner of the points? Do I get them?"

  The Game Master raised an eyebrow.

  "Good question. But no. We have a judicial system. Murder, homicide, and rape are punishable by death. Only we can execute. However..."

  He grinned darkly.

  "If you're not caught? If there's no record? It's just hearsay. And hearsay isn't accepted in our court."

  Someone in the crowd chuckled. "So we can kill... as long as there's no trace?"

  The Game Master pointed. "Exactly. Because that's what an assassin does, idiot."

  He began pacing again.

  "Remember, you can choose to leave. But you'll face the consequences of that decision."

  "Every quarter, you'll be evaluated. Top performers get a 1.5x multiplier on their total points. The bottom five... will be punished. Details of the penalties will be revealed during your first activity."

  He stopped at center stage, looking over the silent crowd.

  "Any more questions, trash?"

  Silence.

  Just as he turned to leave, a voice sliced the air like a blade.

  ---

  "Then tell me..."

  He froze.

  The crowd turned.

  A girl, no older than twenty, stepped forward. Her eyes burned-not with fear, but with defiance. Her fists were clenched. Her voice trembled slightly, but her spine was steel.

  "Will this system... teach us how to kill you?"

  Gasps.

  The Game Master turned slightly, his terrifying smile widening once more. His shoulders shook-first with amusement... then laughter. Loud, deranged, theatrical.

  Gabriel's eyes lit up.

  He smiled-genuinely. Something in him stirred. That question... finally, someone brave enough to challenge the devil.

  The Game Master walked backward toward the curtain, still laughing. As the shadows swallowed him whole, his voice echoed one final time:

  ---

  "I'm unkillable.

  I... am God."

  Then-darkness.