"Breathe."
The word pierced the silence like thunder in a vacuum.
Jonathan gasped.
Air slammed into his lungs like he'd never tasted it before. He lurched forward, hacking, spitting sand and bile, vision blurry and burning.
The heat was instant. Suffocating. The smell of scorched moss and jungle rot invaded his senses.
"Where the hell—"
A shriek tore through the canopy above. Something massive, winged, cast a momentary shadow across the jungle floor before vanishing into the green haze.
Jonathan staggered to his feet.
He was on a slope, knee-deep in vines and oversized fungi that oozed something iridescent. His arms were bare—his coveralls gone, replaced with something stitched from patchy leather and bone. A wristband blinked on his left arm, its glass flickering.
> PLAYER: JONATHAN VIRELL
SKIN: DUST-EATER OF LORAM FIELD
STATUS: ACTIVE
ATTRIBUTE: NONE
SPECIAL: ATTRIBUTE RETENTION [SEALED]
NEXT STAGE BEGINS: 2 HOURS 13 MINUTES
LOCATION: VERDANT ABYSS - OUTSKIRTS
"Dust-Eater?" he muttered, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder. "Well that's flattering."
A voice crackled softly from the wristband: female, flat, almost sarcastic.
> "Welcome to the Grand Finale, Jonathan Virell. You are in a Level-One danger zone. Survival probability: 11.2%. Recommended action: Don't die."
He blinked.
"I liked the insurance ad voice better."
Something rustled in the trees to his left. His body tensed automatically. Years of scrapping with malfunctioning bots had given him instincts, if not strength.
"Who's there?" he called.
No answer.
The jungle answered with a low, guttural hum. The whole place seemed... alive. Breathing.
Then came a different sound. Footsteps—fast, messy.
Someone burst out from the underbrush—a girl, maybe late teens, clutching a blood-streaked polearm. Her eyes wild, uniform torn.
She didn't see him until it was almost too late.
Jonathan threw up his hands. "Whoa—!"
She skidded to a stop, polearm raised. "You a mimic?!"
"Last I checked, no."
She stared at him, scanning him top to bottom. "No teeth. No mirrored eyes. You're real?"
"I feel real. I ache real. I don't know what the hell a mimic is, but I'm not it."
She lowered the weapon slowly. "Damn. Thought you were a spawn. Sorry."
"Apology accepted. Sort of. Who the hell are you?"
"Name's Vikka. You dropped in just now?"
"Yeah. Woke up coughing sand. Big ball of light said 'don't die,' and now I'm here in a fungal fever dream."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're funny. You won't last."
Jonathan snorted. "That's the spirit."
She didn't smile. "You're in the Verdant Abyss. First stage of the season. It's not a tutorial. People died before breakfast."
"Stage?" he repeated, glancing at the blinking band on his wrist. "So this isn't just... a punishment afterlife?"
"Nope. It's a meat grinder with prizes."
A scream echoed in the distance—high, sharp, cut short.
Vikka didn't flinch. "Come on. We've got two hours to find shelter or allies before the stage activates."
Jonathan didn't move. "Why help me?"
She hesitated. "Because you're either gonna get me killed, or save my ass. Either way, I'll know faster with you around."
He gave a dry laugh. "That's... honestly fair."
---
They moved fast.
The jungle fought them every step—giant roots, flesh-colored flies, shrieking moss. Vikka led the way with the grace of someone who'd already seen too much, and Jonathan stumbled behind, mind racing.
"So these... stages," he panted. "What's the goal?"
"Survive. Sometimes collect stuff. Sometimes fight. Sometimes... solve."
"Collect what?"
She paused, looked at him. "You don't know?"
"I'm new. Like fresh corpse new."
She gave a short, grim nod. "Twelve Grand Emeralds. Whoever checks them in gets to live again. Or so they say."
"Twelve?" Jonathan echoed. "So it's not winner-takes-all?"
"No. But you need all twelve to check in. Most of us never even see one."
Jonathan rubbed his neck. "So where's the first?"
Vikka pointed ahead, toward a rise of obsidian-black stone poking out from the treetops like a buried knife. "Temple of Echoes. Supposedly where it lies. No one who's gone in's come out."
He frowned. "Why's it called that?"
She hesitated. "They say it shows you something. Something from before. Your worst moment."
He went quiet. Then, "Sounds like a party."
They reached the edge of a clearing—ruined stone statues and twisted metal vines wrapped around a crumbling gate. The Temple loomed ahead, breathing shadows into the light.
Vikka grabbed his wrist. "You don't have to come."
Jonathan looked at her, then at the temple.
He saw Sarah's face in his mind—smiling despite the tubes in her nose, her voice hoarse but steady. "You're the only one I trust, Eli."
He nodded once.
"No. I think I do."
---
Inside, it was colder.
The air pulsed with a faint hum. Lights flickered on their own—glowing glyphs lining the walls, shifting when Jonathan passed.
At the heart of the chamber was a pedestal.
On it—a single green gem, larger than his fist. Floating.
Jonathan stepped forward—
—and the world changed.
---
He stood in a garage. Familiar. Too familiar.
Garret snored behind the desk. The rain dripped.
His sister's voice came from the phone, weak: "It's worse. They don't think I'll walk again…"
His younger self stared at the screen, jaw clenched, fingers trembling.
"I don't know what to do," the voice whispered.
You walked out, he remembered. You left her waiting. Said you had another job.
Jonathan moved forward, yelling, "Stop! Don't!"
But the illusion didn't hear him.
It wasn't meant to.
He watched himself pick up the keys. Walk out.
Alone.
A quiet voice—his own—echoed behind him: "You were always too late."
The chamber cracked.
---
He woke with a gasp, knees on the floor. Blood from his nose, vision doubled.
Vikka grabbed his arm. "You saw it."
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Did you take it?"
Jonathan turned.
The emerald floated before him still. Unclaimed.
He reached out, hand steady.
The moment his fingers brushed it, everything went white—
> GLOBAL SYSTEM BROADCAST:
PLAYER #3147 - JONATHAN VIRELL HAS ACQUIRED: GRAND EMERALD [1/12]
GLOBAL TRACKING ENABLED
The temple walls shuddered.
Vikka stared at him, wide-eyed.
"You're on every screen now," she whispered. "You just became a target."
Jonathan rose slowly, emerald clutched in his fist.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Feels about right."