Luca didn’t know how long he had been falling. He couldn’t hear anything, and his other senses weren’t better.

  Falling further and further —it could have been seconds.

  It could have been hours.

  The abyss changed color, taking a reddish hue and the air grew hot, before it opened into a very colorful space. It was so big like the city. In truth, he couldn’t see its full extent. But—

  … Ah?

  Red, dark pink and sulfuric green zones with black strips as in a plaid pattern. This was a garden. And although his thoughts were sluggish, he knew that if he hit the plain black rock, he wouldn’t tell the story. Acid accumulated on his throat and he spat it, using the impulse to push himself to the green zone.

  Dying was worse than falling in water again.

  The distance between Luca and the green grew short as he tried to accommodate himself in a ‘standing up’ position.

  Feet first, heals down, he thought, chin tucked in, arms glued to the body, legs together.

  He took a deep breath.

  And the light enveloped him —and he appeared in the same position but his feet was in land.

  Luca almost stumbled, losing his balance for an instant.

  What? Blinking, he glanced at his surroundings. He was in one of the ‘black strips’, a path that led beyond red, jagged trees and beautiful pink flowers. Beyond the water that looked like acid and bubbled as lava.

  Ugh. Perhaps it was better that this happened.

  Breathing in, he moved forward, keeping an eye around him. He still couldn’t heart anything, nor could smell anything. But as he walked, the air prickled his skin, and there were shadows lurking between the trees. He was being followed.

  Rubbing his sore throat, Luca focused on not stopping. The new challenge would come when ‘they’ —the Participants— were together, so nothing should happen. Or so he tried to convince himself as the distant sound of sorrow reached his ears.

  Feeling unease was an understatement as the noise grew louder. Stronger.

  And then, footsteps began to creep behind him, loud and clear despite the weeping.

  The smell of fire surrounded him and the air grew warmer, warmer, warmer.

  Luca didn’t hesitate anymore.

  He ran.

  Red and pink blurred but the wailing was on his heels, persisting.

  His legs burned and his lungs complained the lack of oxygen but Luca didn’t stop. A golden light appeared ahead —close. He only had to kept running. Forward. Without looking back.

  He was almost certain he wouldn’t make it when he felt something sharp graze his heels—a tendril that slipped past the side of his boot, cutting his skin and sending a sharp pain shooting through him. Yet even then, he kept repeating the now-familiar warnings: Don’t look back, keep moving forward, don’t stop.

  It worked. Or at least, it got him to the end of the path, where a clearing stretched out before him—a wide space of polished black stone, with three tables on one side, each set with eight chairs. Beyond them stood a podium holding three thrones, each the same color as the tablecloths.

  People were already seated there. Luca recognized them as the winners of the first round—or rather, the survivors. Jackal Head was there too, sitting at the middle table. Red was very much Chef Dominatom’s color, huh?

  Luca walked toward that same table, suppressing a wince as he felt a dull throb in his ankle and the sticky sensation of something wet. How annoying, he thought. He remembered one of the items he had on him but decided not to use it yet. It’d be a shame to waste something so expensive on a simple wound.

  Taking a seat at the corner of the table, Luca glanced around. The few others present seemed calm, absorbed in their own silence. Though it was probably an act, they must have been relieved to have been chosen—to have survived the disaster that was the evaluation.

  Hah. No surprise no one else made it this far. Even if they’d prepared a "decent" dish, the danger of being killed never lessened. The worst part? From here on out, things would only get harder—a nosedive straight into a pool of lava.

  He adjusted himself in his chair and looked up.

  A chill ran down his spine when he realized the eye he’d seen in the previous location was right there. But something was different. A sickly green hue had spread across it, and the black pupil had dilated. And… it seemed to be staring straight down.

  Luca barely managed to look away when a crushing pressure seized his body—like a human finger hovering over an ant. But it was just a sensation. It didn’t last long. Still… he took it as a warning.

  Don’t look up. Got it, he thought, gripping one of his hands beneath the table.

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

  The sound of ragged breathing drew his attention back to the entrance. The imp was there, hunched forward with his hands on his knees. Luca could hear his curses from where he sat. For something no bigger than a human child, the little guy had the mouth of a sailor.

  Someone else approached from behind, judging by the sound of flapping wings. As the imp started shuffling toward his table, a dark-winged demon swooped down from the air, brushing past him and hitting him with a wing—purely by accident.

  The imp staggered and not only cursed the demon but did something that made the other let out a pained screech. The reason became obvious a second later when the shorter demon dropped the handful of feathers he’d been holding, a venomous expression on his face.

  The winged demon rose with a hiss. "How dare you?! Do you have any idea what kind of insult you’ve just committed against me? Against my clan?"

  "Me? Insult you? You do a fine job of that yourself—"

  "You little rat—"

  Lightning crackled around them like a personal storm.

  "What?!" The winged demon leaped aside, barely dodging the bolt. "Who dares—?!"

  "By Angra’s beard!" the imp shrieked, trying to back away from the storm. "Stop this!"

  One of the demons at another table laughed. "Cooking time and a show. How nice. Thanks, Imuit."

  Ah. Luca’s eyes flicked to Jackal Head, who sat far too dignified for someone who’d just thrown a lightning storm at two of his opponents. No, wait. This was nothing. For a demon, this was practically child’s play compared to what he was capable of.

  "I-Imuit?! You’re the bastard from the Academy!" the imp spat, only to shriek when lightning struck him dead-on.

  "Bastard, am I?"

  "Oh, oh," another demon muttered, leaning back in his seat.

  "My clan has no quarrel with yours!" the black-winged demon hissed in pain. "Why are you doing this?!"

  "You’re disrespectful and unworthy," came the flat reply, his eyes narrowing. "I won’t cook in the same kitchen as you."

  "You—!"

  "Why? Afraid of losing?" the imp shot back.

  Luca was stunned by the sheer audacity—or complete lack of survival instinct—of the guy. Still…

  Jackal Head growled, and the storm crackled louder. "There’s no point listening to you—"

  "Chef Harpira acknowledged me, and everyone knows the last winner was chosen by her!" the imp fired back without taking a breath. "You’re just trying to eliminate your strongest competition!" He bared his teeth. "No need to hide it. Admit it like a proper demon."

  "Angra, we’re gonna die—" another demon muttered before ducking under the table.

  Luca leaned back, slowly.

  But then, as abrupt as this began, the storm faded.

  “Sit down,” said Inmuit, without inflexion on their voice. “and kept quiet.”

  The imp and the other demon slipped into their seats with nothing more than a few glances exchanged. However, there was probably some kind of spell at play, because neither seemed capable of speaking. The other demons who had hidden earlier reappeared, but from what Luca could tell, they looked more disappointed than relieved.

  It made sense. Less competition meant better odds of winning.

  Demons weren’t all that different from humans, huh? They were just a little more… open about their flaws—or maybe it was better to say they didn’t even consider them flaws at all.

  Luca folded his hands in his lap and straightened his back, settling deeper into his chair.

  None of it mattered.

  In the end, he would be the one to win this. He just had to keep moving forward.

  How much longer until the last ones arrive? he wondered, shifting his gaze back toward the entrance.

  And as if on cue, a figure appeared, panting so heavily it sounded like they’d just run three marathons back-to-back. If Luca thought he was in bad shape, then what did that say about this demon? Not to mention the multiple visible cuts covering their arms and legs—their clothes weren’t faring much better either. Whatever lurked among the trees hadn’t been kind to this one.

  "Finally," the demon exhaled in relief, staggering toward the first table before collapsing into the nearest chair, practically melting into it.

  Weird, Luca thought. How did this demon—who could only be from the third round—get here so fast? The flow of time in this place was no joke. He’d have to be careful about that.

  Soon, a couple more demons appeared. Maybe this had been the round with the most talent, or maybe the presenter had managed to soften up the judges a little (yeah, right), but eight more arrived, dispersing among the tables until there were five at each.

  It was the same number as in the book, so Luca figured this was a fixed detail of the Mystery. So it didn’t matter to what round you went. A little thing to report to update the manual.

  They didn't have to wait much longer before flames rose like walls, encircling the clearing. The host was the first to appear atop the podium, hundreds of eyes sprouting from their form and scattering across the space.

  "Hello again, Participants! I'm delighted to see you've managed to reach our first challenge site!" Spinning gracefully, the host executed an elegant bow toward the thrones. "But first, let's give a warm welcome to our judges!" Each judge materialized in their seat with a burst of smoke.

  Luca joined in the applause, noticing from the corner of his eye that the nearest demon flinched. Why...? He didn't have time to dwell on it before the host continued with their trademark cheer.

  "Fifteen of you have earned the title of Participant—fewer than we'd hoped, but no matter! We'll proceed with all the devilish fun regardless," they laughed, the sound neither pleasant nor sincere. "As you know, the First Challenge is always a friendly team competition. To ensure fairness, you'll be randomly divided into groups of five and sent into the Scarlet Forest to retrieve this—" A snap of their fingers summoned a small orb floating midair. "—Inside, you'll find ingredients for the second and most crucial phase: serving our judges a dinner worthy of their refined palates."

  The moment the host finished speaking, new messages materialized before Luca:

  More points for me, then.

  Now, who would be his 'allies' and who his oponents?