Unwritten Mythos

Hiss!

As the countdown hit zero, the figures on the platform flickered and vanished into thin air.

Mei stood motionless, watching the empty space before her. With a casual wave of her hand, the world around her shifted and swirled, transporting her to a vast manor. Its looming halls stretched endlessly, and within its countless rooms, the scattered participants were hurled, each landing in a random location.

The manor was a labyrinth, with only one way out.

Suddenly, from every corner, a horde of Fish-Men surged forth, tearing through the halls, their monstrous forms rushing toward the rooms where the players were scattered.

Hovering above, Mei observed the chaos unfolding below with a calm, detached smile.

"Why don't you let me join the fun?" she mused, her tone teasing.

[Ah...]

[If you intervene, Lord, it would skew the balance of the game entirely.]

[But... if you really want to... maybe—]

Before the system could finish, Mei twisted her wrist. Her divine form shimmered, and in an instant, she returned to her human shape.

"No need," she replied softly, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Let them play."

...

Enko's eyes snapped open, his breath sharp as he realized he was in a dimly lit room. He didn't waste a second, instinctively rushing towards the back of the room, where a hunting gun hung on the wall like a lifeline.

Just as his fingers brushed the cool metal of the gun, a boot slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling backward. Enko gasped, eyes narrowing as Mihawk, the last person he wanted to see, swaggered over and snatched the gun.

"You alright?" Mihawk asked, his voice full of false concern. "How'd you fall like that?" He waved the gun. "This thing's dangerous in your hands. I'll hold onto it for you. Stick with me."

Enko's fists clenched. This guy. Mihawk was known for his treachery, the same man who once fought alongside Enko only to stab him in the back during a previous game. But Enko was powerless now. Stripped of his abilities and strength, he was no match for Mihawk, whose Fish-Man's Heart granted him enhanced physical prowess.

The Fish-Man's Heart was a prize, an elite purple-rarity reward from past games. Enko would need to make it into the top 10 just to have a chance of winning it back. But Mihawk, with the only weapon in the room, had the upper hand. Enko had to settle for the logging ax that lay discarded near the door.

He remembered the power he once wielded: a golden-rarity ability that could trip anyone with a single sweep, the Fish-Man's Heart that doubled his physical strength, and the two blue-rarity abilities that sharpened his hearing and mind. All of that, gone. Now, with no abilities, not even the lowliest white-rarity power.

Gripping the ax, Enko stepped cautiously to the door. Outside, chaos reigned. The Fish-Men had arrived, surging like a tidal wave of bodies into the manor's halls. Some players, the seasoned ones like Mihawk, took position—sniping Fish-Men with guns or using the terrain to their advantage.

But for the new players, it was a slaughter.

One fresh-faced player, eyes wide with terror, stumbled directly into a Fish-Man's grasp. The creature's teeth sank into his throat, silencing his scream. Blood splattered across the walls as more Fish-Men closed in on the panicked crowd.

Enko saw an opening. He spotted the downed player, the Fish-Man distracted as it feasted. Without hesitation, he swung the ax, cleaving the creature's head clean from its shoulders.

"One," Enko muttered.

...

In the sky, Mei observed the scene below with a cool detachment, her gaze settling on one individual who caught her attention—Ye Gong. A smile ghosted her lips.

His movements were poetry in motion, each step calculated, each strike precise. Like a god of war amidst chaos, he danced through the battlefield, effortlessly pulling Fish-Men into his orbit, dispatching them with whatever he could find. His skill wasn't merely a product of raw strength. No, it was his finesse, his fluidity, the almost inhuman reaction speed that set him apart.

Mei's thoughts drifted. She could hand him a Potion now—let him taste the power she had to offer. But then, she mused, who would truly value a gift given without effort? No, people cherish what they earn through sweat and struggle. The Potion could wait.

Below, the battle raged on for over half an hour. Fatigue began to show on the survivors, their once confident strikes now sloppy and desperate.

"Wait, it's been thirty minutes! Why hasn't the game ended?" someone shouted, panic creeping into their voice.

"It's true! Are we expected to survive longer?" another echoed, disbelief setting in.

Enko, already on the edge of exhaustion, noticed the same thing. "Not thirty minutes, then?" he muttered through gritted teeth, swinging his ax to dispatch another Fish-Man. "Doesn't matter. Keep moving, keep fighting!"

The longer the game dragged on, the fiercer the Fish-Men's attacks became. The original thirty minutes was difficult enough, but now, as time stretched beyond the expected limit, even the strongest player, Ye Gong, was struggling to hold his ground.

Enko's eyes darted toward the manor's main gate. 'Escape. It's the only option left.' The thought burned in his mind like a beacon of hope. If he could just make it out, if any of them could, there might still be a reward. Staying behind meant only one thing—death.

The shift in the players' collective mindset was immediate. As if all came to the same realization at once, they surged toward the manor's main gate in a desperate rush, hoping to break through the ever-increasing tide of Fish-Men.

Casualties soared. The group of a hundred was quickly whittled down to a handful. Ye Gong, still leading the charge, fought with brutal efficiency alongside a few others, carving a path through the manor's entrance. One by one, the survivors spilled out into the open.

Enko lagged behind, his body weak and battered from the relentless battle. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he gritted his teeth and threw himself forward, rolling through the door just as the scene before his eyes was swallowed by darkness.

The game had finally ended.

As the survivors were transported back to the platform, the reward settlement stage began.

Ye Gong, as expected, claimed the top spot, having slaughtered an impressive 102 Fish-Men—19 more than the second-ranked player. His skill was undeniable, a gap too wide to be ignored.

Mihawk, boasting his shotgun, managed only 49 kills, landing him at a distant 7th place.

Enko, however, had fared far worse. He ranked 65th, with a meager 8 kills. A humiliating number, but he was alive, and in this game, survival was a reward in itself.

Back on the platform, the survivors opened their chests. Enko pressed his finger to the glowing icon before him, awaiting whatever pitiful reward the game saw fit to bestow upon him.

[Obtained reward: Consumable item]

[Grenade (White rarity)]

He stared at it, disillusionment settling in. "Trash."

At least, for now, he still had his life.